Our special thanks to the Advisory Committee,
Program in Hellenic Studies, Princeton University,
for their instrumental role in maintaining the highest standards
of scholarship for the exhibition and catalogue:
Peter Brown, Professor of History, Emeritus
Slobodan C´urcˇic´, Professor of Art and Archaeology, Emeritus
Dimitri Gondicas, Director, Seeger Center for Hellenic Studies

10

foreword

Art from Late Antiquity is part of our cultural heritage little known to the public, which today is gaining special
(and perhaps unexpected) attention.
Creations from an era of huge transformation, during which a new social, religious and material culture gradually
replaced the old one, the outstanding works of art presented in the exhibition â&#x20AC;&#x153;Transition to Christianity: Art in
Late Antiquity, 3rdâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;7th Century adâ&#x20AC;? depict very clearly what it is like to live and create in a world of change; in
a time, where anything familiar, safe and tested is left behind, to move towards something new and unknown.
Impressively, these artifacts embody a kind of optimism and faith in a better future, as opposed to a pessimistic
and phobic notion, as one would expect.
This exhibition, which is the fruit of the close collaboration of the Onassis Foundation with the Byzantine and
Christian Museum, and where artifacts from other museums in Greece, Cyprus and the United States will also be
presented, will be hosted at the Onassis Cultural Center in New York, a place where all expressions of Greek
Culture and Civilization are consistently projected and promoted.
The organization of this Exhibition is very important since it reflects what contemporary Greece is about. It
shows how we Greeks honor, protect and introduce to the rest of the world the work of the generations that
preceded us.
I would like to wholeheartedly thank the people that conceived, designed and now make this exhibition happen,
wishing that it becomes not just a starting point for an international scientific dialogue, but also a motive for
people from around the globe to visit our country and get acquainted with the birthplace of this grand Civilization.

Pavlos Yeroulanos
Minister of Culture and Tourism of the Hellenic Republic

11

foreword

Τ
α πντα ρει, τα πντα χωρε
Και ουδν μνει1
Ηρκλειτος

The 2011 exhibition at the Onassis Cultural Center in New York conforms with what has become a pattern: it
is “unexpected.” It challenges the preconceptions of modern, and not so modern, times in the same way that we
have strived in our previous exhibitions to showcase such subjects as Sparta’s culture versus that of Athens and
the equivalent, if not equal, role of Athenian women in classical Athens.
In this particular instance, I would point out from the outset that the chronology of this exhibition is by itself of
particular interest. The end of the classical Greek world is conventionally put at the death of Alexander the Great
(323 bc). The pre-Christian philosophical movements that were later subsumed into the teaching of the Christian
fathers (in particular, John Chrysostom, Gregory of Nyssa, and Gregory of Nazianzos in the 4th century ad)
started in the 3rd century bc with the Neoplatonic, Stoic, and Pythagorian philosophers. These movements were
later followed by the cults of Mithras, Adonis, Isis, Manes, and others, all before the advent of Christ. Thus, the
transition to Christianity, one could say, effectively started in the 3rd century bc and not ad.
Unless, of course, one chooses to say that Christianity starts after the Edict of Milan [Mediolanum] (ad 313) and
the Council of Nicaea (ad 325). This view would be supported, along with other arguments, by the fact that the
Council of Nicaea was presided over by the emperor Constantine I the Great, who was still at that time pontifex
maximus, and that Constantine remained a pagan (or a Mithraist) until he was baptized by Eusebios of Nikomedeia
(an Arianizing bishop) on his deathbed. Constantine is a typical example of the syncretism and mixed spiritual
parenthood of this era. All the more exemplary of the transition we are discussing is the fact that a successor to
his son Constantine II was his nephew Julian the Philosopher (r. ad 355–63), also known as Julian the Apostate,
apparently a fervent Christian until his accession to the throne.
It is true that one can also view this exhibition as either the triumph of Christianity or its assimilation by the
pre-existing pagan (for lack of a better all-encompassing word) structures. The philosophy, aesthetic values,
social and political practices, imperial policies, and religious beliefs that developed from the 3rd century bc to
the 3rd century ad did survive long into the Byzantine Empire.2 Another example will suffice to illustrate my
point. The great legal texts of Justinian (ad 529–34)3 are still the basis of the legal system of the world (except
notably for the Anglo-Saxons). They are one of the great intellectual monuments of humanity by their influence
in Western and Eastern Europe in the centuries that followed, up to this day. And they are firmly rooted in the
classical pre-Christian Roman legal tradition.

hus, in the new Akropolis Museum there is a bust dated about the end of the 2nd
T
century ad, which could very easily be mistaken for a depiction of Jesus Christ. It most
likely represents Sauromates II, king of the Bosporan Kingdom. See D. Pandermalis et al.,
Acropolis Museum short guide. Athens 2011, 53.

3

J .A.S. Evans, The Age of Justinian: The Circumstances of Imperial Power.
London 1996, 204ff., and passim.

We can also see this exhibition in the light of that old cliché “The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,” which
is, in fact, limited to the relative darkness that fell over Western Europe after the fall of Rome to Alaric in ad 410
and finally to Odoacer in 476. In contrast, the eastern Roman Empire continued its own trajectory for another
thousand years or so. This shift of military, economic, and intellectual power to the east is another transition that
works as an undercurrent in our exhibition.
There is one last (important) undercurrent influencing this period. It refers to the great importance for history of
“other” peoples and empires east of Constantinople. In Sasanid Persia, Syria, and the Caucasus, we see examples
of important, vibrant civilizations in a continuous exchange of words and wars with the Byzantines. The Copts
of Egypt, cut off from their Byzantine suzerain, maintain their own language, rites, and traditions, which hark
back to the very first phases of Christianity.
“Transitions” (in the plural) would be an apt title to our exhibition, especially since by definition all the history
of mankind is a transition by itself. The flow of the river of history is never ending. With this exhibition, we try
to freeze this flow for a moment, well aware of the difficulty of such an endeavor. Nevertheless, we believe that
it will offer a contribution to an important dialectic process that perennially uses the old as a foundation and as
building material in order to create the new.
The exhibition owes its splendor to a number of important loans from major museums in Greece, the United
States, and Cyprus, to which we are very grateful. Our appreciation and gratitude go also to the Hellenic
Ministry of Culture and its Minister for once more supporting our effort to promote Hellenic civilization in its
diachronic and universal sense.
The exhibition’s exceptionally high scholarly and educational level relies on the erudition of Peter Brown,
Princeton University Professor Emeritus, the pioneer in the study of Late Antiquity; the art-historical expertise
of Slobodan Ćurčić, Princeton Professor Emeritus of Art and Archaeology; and the invaluable support of
Professor Dimitri Gondicas, Director of the Seeger Center for Hellenic Studies of Princeton University.
We are also grateful to the curators of the exhibition, Dr. Eugenia Chalkia and Dr. Anastasia Lazaridou, Director
and Vice Director, respectively, of the Museum of Byzantine and Christian Art, for undertaking the project with
enthusiasm after the early loss of our dear friend Dimitri Konstantios, the heart and soul of the Byzantine
Museum for many years, to whose memory we would like to dedicate this exhibition.

The age of transition from antiquity to Christianity, mistakenly
identified up to the middle of the 20th century as the decline of
the ancient world, began to be better understood in the second
half of that century. The question “Décadence romaine ou antiquité
tardive? (IIIe–VIe siècle)” was addressed by Η.-Ι. Marrou in his
book of the same name (Paris 1977), and he came down on the
side of the latter. Like many other earlier and later scholars,
Marrou describes a world that was far from “dark” or obscure.
It was a world full of life, in which the gradual transition was
both creative and productive and in which attempts to adapt to
the new requirements of the time were made without a complete
break from the past. This exhibition, Transition to Christianity,
was proposed by the Onassis Foundation (USA) to the Byzantine
and Christian Museum. An advisory committee from the Princeton
Program in Hellenic Studies, as well as other distinguished
scholars of Princeton University, have contributed to its realization.
The exhibition, which Demetrios Konstantios, then director
of the Byzantine Museum, began organizing three years ago,
focuses above all on Greece as the most representative part of
the ancient world and has been arranged in seven sections. It
attempts to throw light on various manifestations of a semiChristian, semi-pagan world, like Cavafy’s Syrian scholar, who
was “in part a heathen, in part Christianized,” with its passions
on the one hand and its ascetic spirit on the other.
The crisis that arose in the late 2nd and early 3rd century, as
a result of internal and external disturbances in the Roman
Empire, also marks the beginning of the end of the ancient world
and the gradual transition to the Middle Ages. Late Antiquity, as
this period is usually called, is characterized by a merging of old
and new tendencies in ideas, art, and religion. Philosophical

Detail of cat. no. 130

Christ Jesus, I try each day
in my every thought, word, and deed
to keep the commandments
of your most holy Church; and I abhor
all who deny you. But now I mourn:
I grieve, O Christ, for my father
even though he was—terrible as it is to say it—
priest at that cursed Serapeion.
C.P. Cavafy, Priest at the Serapeion
Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard

movements, principally Neoplatonism, and the mystery religions
(mostly of eastern origin) that existed alongside the ancient
twelve Olympian gods had a direct influence on the way of life
and the art of the new era.
The statues of the Greek gods found at Corinth (cat. nos.
2a–g), which most probably once belonged to a house shrine,
bear witness to the survival of the ancient religion in the 4th
century, a time when Christianity had not just gained ground
over the other religions but had also acquired legal status. The
taurobolic altar of Kybele and the funerary stele with the symbols
of Isis found in Athens (cat. nos. 5, 6) come from the same
period, but from another religious environment, as do the much
later, 6th-century remains of a wild boar sacrifice (cat. nos.
3a–d) found in the so-called House of Proklos on the south side
of the Akropolis, which can be plausibly identified with the
school of the well-known Neoplatonic philosopher. It is by no
means coincidental that all of these cults coexisted in Athens,
St. Paul’s “city wholly given to idolatry.” Despite receiving the
good news of Christianity from this same apostle to the heathen
and acquiring a Christian community at a very early stage, Athens
continued for a long time to be a center of classical education,
whose philosophy schools functioned until the year 529, when
they ceased to operate by order of Justinian. The ideals of the
Neoplatonic philosophy, which were taught in the Athenian
schools, are embodied in the face of the “divine man” with the
profound gaze and intense facial features, which seem to express
his internal world. It was this same model that the Christians
used to depict Christ and the apostles of the new religion (cat.
nos. 9–11), the legalization and establishment of which is
addressed in the second section of the exhibition.

eugenia chalkia and anastasia lazaridou

15

Constantine the Great (cat. nos. 15–21), with the Edict of
Milan (313) and, in more general terms, his attitude to
Christianity, played a decisive role in establishing the new
religion, which would subsequently become the official religion
of the Roman Empire. Constantine’s policy of founding
magnificent churches in the great urban centers of the empire
also blazed a trail for his successors, whose names are associated
with the building of great churches. The bishops played a similar
role, occupying themselves, in addition to their administrative
and pastoral duties, with the construction and decoration of
large basilicas, as the inscriptions engraved on marble
architectural members or set in the tesserae of the churches’
mosaic floors and elsewhere bear witness. The content of these
inscriptions is often indicative of the theological training of these
church luminaries but also their classical education. However,
the activities of the bishops were not limited to church building
but were sometimes extended to non-ecclesiastical constructions,
as in the case of Bishop Epiphanios (cat. no. 30), who helped to
rebuild Thessalian Thebes, one of the most important early
Christian cities in Greece.
The third section of the exhibition relates to the important
centers of the Greco-Roman period, which, once Christianized,
continued to exist throughout the period of Late Antiquity.
Characteristically these cities, such as Thessaloniki (cat. no. 31),
the official seat of Galerius in the time of the Tetrarchy and
capital of the prefecture of Illyricum—along with Corinth,
capital of the province of Achaia; Nikopolis, capital of Old
Epiros; Amphipolis (cat. no. 33); Philippi, or Argos—were all
reduced in size and their fortifications strengthened because of
successive enemy attacks. Yet what mainly distinguishes these
cities from those of Greco-Roman antiquity is the change in the
urban landscape, which came about as a result of administrative
reforms and the new circumstances created by Christianity,
which imposed its large basilicas on the urban fabric. The most
magnificent residences, town houses, or villas, such as the wellknown House of the Falconer in Argos, remained in the
possession of upper-class citizens (cat. nos. 36–38), many of
whom also held high office in government (cat. nos. 39, 40).
However, the picture of prosperity in the 5th and 6th centuries,
reflected in the plethora of splendid religious buildings, changed
toward the end of the 6th century. The risk of attacks often
forced city dwellers to move suddenly and obliged them to
conceal coins and other valuables in order to save them from

16

looting. Many of the hoards / treasures hidden during that
troubled time have come to light in various parts of Greece. One
of the most important is the Mytilene Treasure from Kratigos on
Lesbos, which contained gold coins, silverware, and gold, which
once belonged to a noble family, some of whose members were
senior officials in government service (cat. nos. 51a–k).
The contests in the Hippodrome—after Theodosios I
banned the Olympic Games in 393—were excluded from all the
interdictory edicts and became for centuries the most popular
form of entertainment. The contests were held under the aegis of
the emperor who, to public acclamation, proclaimed them open
by making the sign of the cross.
The ceremonial form of court ritual was not restricted to
the palace but governed every step the emperor took outside,
beginning with his obligatory presence at contests in the
Hippodrome and at religious celebrations, which were
opportunities for the ruler to come face to face with his subjects
and sometimes even to find himself in a confrontation with
them. The Hippodrome in Constantinople, which was
typologically identical to the Circus Maximus in Rome, was a
special space in which every symbolic aspect of imperial power
was expressed, but it was also a means through which the citizen
body could express itself. On the fringes of strictly political
institutions, the Hippodrome, as in Rome, was organized in
factions or colors, and this, together with a variety of other
factors, formed the basis of the capital’s social life and its
tensions. The winning horses or quadrigas, and indeed the
spectacles of the Hippodrome in general, were a favorite subject
for the decoration of mosaics, pottery (cat. no. 52), metalwork
(cat. no. 53), and glass (cat. nos. 54, 55), which were sometimes
inscribed with the names of the winners. These inscriptions
continue the tradition of recording the names of champions of
the Olympic Games, as on the copper alloy plaque from Olympia
inscribed with the official list of victors (cat. no. 56), dated a few
years before Theodosios’s interdictory decree of 393.
Heir to a world that celebrated physical beauty, the long period
of Late Antiquity gradually brought about the formulation of
other aesthetic values. A preoccupation with adorning the face
and the body was thought incompatible with the Christian ethic,
as is evident from patristic texts. However, the age-old desire to
improve one’s personal image by beautifying, clothing, and
adorning it with jewelry is attested in objects of varying quality
(cat. nos. 57–73), testimony to the constant need of women for

finery and of men for displays of heroism. The attention paid to
being elegantly turned out (cat. no. 75) was always to a large
extent dependent on the social and economic rank to which
people belonged. Decorative motifs were taken from the
extensive repertoire of the new iconography, employing the new
symbols and images (cat. nos. 58, 59, 71, 72). The finely carved
ivory comb (cat. no. 74) is particularly interesting, an object of
small-scale sculpture decorated on both sides with images of
Roman divinities, identifiable as the personifications of Rome and
Constantinople, respectively.
Like the time and the place, Roman society itself seems to
have become Christianized. Basic human emotions have remained
unchanged from the dawn of time: the fear of instability and the
hope that certain basic essentials of human existence (good
health, sex, material possessions) will be protected from all sorts
of risks. In this respect, the boundaries seem to have become
blurred when it came to invoking the divine powers of the
established religion or other supernatural beings belonging to
other mystery cults. Christian piety and “magical” thought are
mixed together without distinction by the engravers of amulets,
who used pagan, Jewish, and Christian elements or symbols of a
protective or apotropaic character, thereby expressing the
undying social desire to access divine power. The mystical
powers that these amulets embody depend on the form taken by
the talisman, its materials, color, and any accompanying text;
the hero / rider (cat. nos. 76, 78, 80) and the invocation of the
holy name of Jesus Christ (cat. no. 77) give the apotropaic
amulets their new salvationist character, just like the souvenirs
from the pilgrimage places of the Holy Land. Although
Christianity may have imposed itself almost without exception,
the pagan substrate to the Christian religion often remained
constant in popular thinking, bearing witness in some instances
to the strength of earlier traditions.
Nevertheless, the more profound changes happened in less
obvious ways, given that Christianity, which promoted the idea
of man’s rebirth, was disseminating its values to a community
that was itself changing slowly and gradually. Personal and
social life was being Christianized. Marriage, for example, the
dextrarum junctio, remained fundamentally a civic and Roman
institution, but now it was blessed by a bishop or priest and
acquired new content, being indissoluble except in special
circumstances. In the marriage ceremony, in addition to the
marriage crowns, rings were used with images of Christ blessing

the married couple on the bezel and inscriptions such as
‘ομνοια’ / harmony (cat. no. 59), ‘χρις’ / grace (cat. no. 60)
and so on.
With the emergence of Christianity, the notion of death
acquired a different meaning. According to the teachings of the
new religion, death does not mark the end of life but constitutes
the transition from earthly to heavenly life. This is why death is
referred to as “sleep” (κομησις), a word often found in funerary
inscriptions (cat. no. 87), and why the graveyards were called
cemeteries (κοιμητρια), or “sleeping places.” Christian tombs
do not differ in shape and form from pagan ones. Before the
Peace of the Church, they usually existed side by side in the same
cemeteries, and it is not always easy to tell one from another.
Where they are decorated with wall paintings, a crucial
distinguishing feature is their iconography, predominantly
subjects related to the salvation of the soul, such as those
depicted in the painted decoration of the tomb in Thessaloniki
(cat. no. 81). During a period in which the pagan and the newly
emerged Christian worlds coexisted, elements characteristic of
the former inevitably survived in the latter, although they may
have contravened the teachings of the new religion. The custom
of placing grave goods in tombs, though foreign to the spirit of
Christianity, continued to be observed by Christians (cat. nos.
82–86), as did other forms of funerary practices, such as putting
offerings in the tombs and holding meals in honor of the dead.
Similar practices were observed in memory of the martyrs of the
faith, although these differed from those for ordinary mortals
regarding their public character. The cult of the martyrs began
with the phenomenon of the martyr’s death, when Christianity
was still being persecuted, and takes on an official character
after the religion was legalized, with churches called “martyria”
being constructed above and adjacent to the tombs of the
martyrs, scattered throughout the Christian world. The church
of Hagios Demetrios in Thessaloniki (cat. no. 97), the Octagon
in Philippi (cat. no. 96), and the Lechaion Basilica are among the
best known martyria on Greek soil. But important martyria,
such as the church of St. Menas (Abu Mena) in Egypt, St. Thekla
in Seleukeia in Asia Minor, and St. John at Ephesus, had
widespread outreach, and their fame extended well beyond local
borders. All these shrines attracted a multitude of pilgrims, who
took pilgrim tokens away with them and terra-cotta flasks with
holy water or oil (ampullae) as a “blessing” (eulogia) and a form of
protection offered by the saints honored there (cat. nos. 92–95).

eugenia chalkia and anastasia lazaridou

17

The gradual transformation of Christianity into a religion
of the masses brought many changes. The religious supremacy
of Christianity transformed the public space and made its cult
buildings centers of a ritual life around which the whole of
public life revolved. The new places of worship, the Christian
churches, were either founded on the ruins of pagan temples,
now purged of their demons from pagan antiquity, or built with
corresponding monumentality from scratch.
Among the more important remains from the pre-Constantinian
period, the earliest Christian dwelling with painted decoration,
is in Dura Europos, whereas most of the surviving monuments,
at least in the form of painting and sculpture, are in the west,
above all in Rome. In Greece the early Christian monuments
belong mainly to the first decades of the 5th century. Moreover,
if the archaeological remains suggest that Christian art developed
primarily as funerary art, then it is clear that the age of
Constantine was of decisive importance for Christian
architecture. The choices made then, starting with the two
architectural types employed—the basilica and the centrally
planned church (e.g., the rotunda), which have their origins,
respectively, in the Roman architectural tradition and in funerary
monuments of antiquity—determined the subsequent development
of Christian cult buildings and perhaps of later religious
architecture as well. It is clear that, if the development of the
types used was connected with the requirements of the Christian
liturgy and (in the case of centrally planned buildings) of the cult
of the martyrs, their magnificent form and lavish decoration
were the result of imperial intervention. This monumentality is
manifested in the dimensions and the architectural style of the
buildings. Christian religious buildings were characterized by
high-quality architecture. Decorative forms and marble sculpture
of the period have preserved some exceptional examples of
architectural members (cat. no. 98) from churches with innovative
stylistic features, which are nevertheless based on forms familiar
from antiquity but decorated with subjects from the new
religion. Mosaics also contribute to the splendor of the churches.
Christian buildings scattered all over the empire (basilicas,
martyria, and monasteries) mark the establishment of the new
religion.
Liturgical objects, whether or not they are luxury artifacts
(cat. nos. 106–108), are connected with the new liturgical
requirements and religious activities; sometimes they are
offerings made by members of the ruling classes. These artifacts

18

are not only the objects used in the Eucharist (such as chalices,
patens, and liturgical fans), but they also include crosses,
censers, and lamps (cat. nos. 112, 109, 110). Some liturgical
objects are decorated, such as the paten known as the Riha
paten, with its depiction of the Communion of the Apostles (cat.
no. 106), the quality of which must viewed in the light of its
provincial provenance.
The long-term changes that transformed the Mediterranean
basin politically, economically, socially, and in religious terms
cannot be separated from the transformation of artistic
production. In that area, unlike the other sudden and spectacular
changes, developments seem to have been slow. The
Christianizing of ancient sculpture by marking it with a cross,
the new symbolism given to certain figures familiar from the
Greco-Roman world, or the re-use of ancient forms that were
appropriated by Christian art confirm the persistence—at least
in the early centuries—of the pagan past, the strength of
resistance but above all the religious continuity between the
pagan past and the Christian present. The supposed conservatism
of the period conceals a real capacity for latent innovation.
In the 4th century, Christianity had not yet consolidated its
content or its modes of expression. It was only toward the end
of the 5th century that symbolism surrounding the imperial
power was definitively and comprehensively Christianized. Art,
as the elite classes of the Roman Empire understood it, aimed at
promoting imperial power, and it remains a fundamental part
of the picture in this period, outstripping what we call religious
art. The allegorical nature of the subjects on the silver plates
from the Cypriot Lambousa treasure (cat. nos. 133a–c), which
are decorated with scenes from the life of David in a fine display
of craftsmanship, is an allusion to the emperor. As the pagan era
receded, certain customs connected with artistic depictions
reappeared in a new, Christianized form: this is when the cult of
icons begins to develop, a phenomenon related to the anxiety
felt by the inhabitants of the empire in the face of the problems
it encountered from the late 6th century on. Purely Christian
subjects, such as the cross and narrative scenes of sacred
episodes, characterize the final phase of early Christian
iconography as does the veneration of icons, which were usually
painted on wooden panels. The funerary portraits from Egypt
(cat. nos. 139–141) and the fragmentarily preserved encaustic icon
in the Benaki Museum (cat. no. 144), also from Egypt, offer a
commentary on the Greco-Roman roots of Byzantine icons.

Organizing an exhibition addressed to the public at large
always requires its curators and organizers to consider its
relationship with the present. An exhibition is considered a
success if it can evoke parallels with the present for the visitor. It
is therefore justifiable to ask: what is the contemporary relevance
of the period presented in this exhibition? Starting from the
principle that nothing is born of nothing, that everything
continues its momentum for a while even after it has gone, that
for something to be created there must be a need for it, and for
something to be snuffed out, it must be redundant, that all
things, tangible or otherwise, are products of constant flux,
transformation, and re-invention, the subject of transition may
be thought to be of exceptional interest. The academic study of
the transition from the ancient world to the Byzantine was

treated very successfully in the exhibition Age of Spirituality,
Late Antique and Early Christian Art, Third to Seventh Century,
which was held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New
York in 1978. However, more recent research, new archaeological
evidence, and objects that for the most part come from Greece
but have been supplemented with material from American
museums, all make what this exhibition has to offer unique. The
subject of transition is of exceptional interest now because of its
obvious relevance to the present day. The great economic crisis,
the coexistence of peoples and communities, the syncretism of
religions and multiculturalism are all current issues and of great
importance, which are redefining the route that Humanity has
to follow.

late antiquity: anomaly and order
between a pagan and a christian world
Peter Brown
The objects gathered here from the museums of Greece and
elsewhere speak to us of a very distant age. But it is an age that
has always played a crucial role in the historical memory of
Europe and the Americas. Attitudes toward the period now
conventionally known as Late Antiquity have varied with the
fate of Europe itself. For a long time, the last centuries of the
ancient world were viewed with a mixture of fascination and
terror. The end of Rome was seen as a memento mori for modern
times. It was a nightmare that could return. If Rome could be
brought low by inner corruption and then toppled by violence
from outside, the same could happen to Europe in modern times.
To look back, over the centuries, to Late Antiquity was to peer
into a twilight age and to be reminded of the darkness that might
yet gather in our own times.
The modern study of Late Antiquity began with a strong
sense of the dark. Scholars who have now reached maturity
began their work (in the middle of the last century) in a Europe
that had only recently emerged from an age of tyranny and
violence, with the ending of what has come to be called (only too
aptly) the Thirty Years’ War of modern time—between 1914 and
1945. It was a postwar world, set against the spreading shadow
of the Cold War. The mood was favorable to dark thoughts.
Conflict, the breakdown of ancient institutions, the passing of
ancient ways of life and thought, and the eventual subjugation
of the classical world to inflexible and otherworldly religious
ideologies: these were the themes on which historians of antiquity
tended to linger by preference when they turned to the GrecoRoman world in its last centuries.
Many leading scholars believed that shadows similar to
those of their own times had come to fall over the last centuries
of the Roman Empire, as a result of the military and social crisis
that set in after the year 200 ad. In the words of the great Russian
historian Mikhail Rostovtzeff: “The social revolution of the 3rd
century . . . destroyed the foundations of the economic, social,
and intellectual life of the ancient world.”

Detail of cat. no. 1

To read Rostovtzeff was to believe that, after 300 ad, night
had fallen on the ancient world. No dawn would appear for
many centuries. Rostovtzeff presented the Roman empire of the
4th and 5th centuries as a world brutally cut off from its classical
past. Its principal features already looked straight toward the
Middle Ages—and the Middle Ages for Rostovtzeff (that great
connoisseur of the enlightened bourgeoisie of the Hellenistic and
Roman worlds in their days of classical glory) was an icy age, an
age of serfdom, autocracy, and dogmatism.
It was the same with judgments on the religious ferment of
the age. This also was explained in terms of crisis and rupture.
In choosing the title of his 1963 lectures, Pagan and Christian in
an Age of Anxiety, the great Irish scholar E. R. Dodds borrowed
the term “Age of Anxiety” from his friend, the English poet
W. H. Auden. For Auden the phrase summed up the sinister
recrudescence of physical and intellectual violence that had
swept across the Europe of the 1930s. For E. R. Dodds, the age
between Marcus Aurelius and Constantine was similar. In his
view of the 3rd century, Dodds extended the negative judgment
of Rostovtzeff: “From a world so impoverished intellectually,
so insecure materially, so filled with fear and hatred as the 3rd
century, any path that promised escape must have attracted
serious minds. . . . The entire culture, pagan as well as Christian,
was moving into a phase in which religion was to be coextensive
with life, and the quest for God was to cast its shadow over all
other human activities.”
Only in the 1960s and 1970s did this sense of darkness
recede. Scholars who devoted renewed attention to this period
came to realize that such a view of the years between 200 and 600
was misplaced. Their researches recaptured a very different world.
It was as if modern scholars had come out from a region of chill
shadows into a landscape still warmed by the late afternoon
sunlight of a very ancient world, now entering its last and most
tantalizing transformation. The message of the new scholarship
was clear. There was life after the 3rd century; and this life came

peter brown 21

to bear the name of “Late Antiquity.” This exhibition is devoted,
in large part, to showing the strange and colorful life of an age that
was once consigned to the shadows as an age of death and gloom.
How has this revolution in contemporary scholarship come
about, and how do we now characterize the civilization whose
outlines we have recovered? These are the two questions that
need to be addressed in an introduction to an exhibition whose
very brilliance and diversity speaks for itself against an older,
more melancholy view of the end of the ancient world.
We should begin by giving due weight to a subtle change in
the mood of Europe itself. Scholars have grown suspicious of
melodramatic ruminations on decline and fall and on the end of
civilization. Such rhetoric now strikes many of us as a form of
cultural narcissism. Like hypochondriacs who consider that
their illness alone is worthy of attention, those who adopted the
rhetoric of crisis and decline when describing the end of the
Roman Empire seemed to assume that the dilemmas of their
own, contemporary Europe (terrible though these might be)
were mirrored in that distant age, an age of which they often
knew very little. They were prepared to listen to the distant past
only if it spoke to them about themselves.
But what if that distant past spoke of other things than
our own immediate concerns and brought us into landscapes
different from our own immediate world? Put briefly, the wish
to overcome the cultural narcissism that led us to see the end of
classical civilization in terms only of crisis, rupture, and decay
was what fired the study of Late Antiquity in its first decades,
from the 1960s onward. What was at stake was a new approach
to the study of the continuity between the ancient world and the
centuries that succeeded it. Instead of being content with an
abrupt scenario of total breakdown—a sort of historical Grand
Guignol or horror movie—we faced the more difficult task of
assessing the resources of an entire civilization as it entered into
a new phase of life: its links with the past, its capacity to survive,
and its ability to adapt creatively to altered circumstances.
And it is here that the study of the Greek world in general
(and of the archaeology of Greece, the Balkans, and the Middle
East in particular) has proved to be the pacemaker of Late Antique
scholarship. This was a significant relocation of a debate that
had begun with Edward Gibbon’s monumental History of the
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire of 1776 onward. For
Gibbon had concentrated almost exclusively on the decline and
fall of the Roman Empire in Western Europe. His chapters on
the emperors of East Rome and on Byzantium were notoriously
dismissive.
For this reason, the exuberant creativity of the Greek world
of Late Antiquity provided the most decisive refutation of the
views of Gibbon and of his followers in recent times. Their

22

introduction late antiquity

viewpoint was essentially parochial. It did not account for what
happened outside Western Europe. By contrast, the creativity of
the Greek East has come to be appreciated by scholars of
literature, religion, and philosophy in the writings of pagans and
Christians alike. It has recently been revealed to art historians
and to archaeologists (often for the very first time, in a series
of stunning acts of recovery) as they follow the rich evidence of
Late Antique material culture, which stretches in an unbroken
arc from Nikopolis (Preveza), Argos, and Thessaloniki through
Constantinople and modern western Turkey to Syria, Jordan,
and Israel.
Seen from the viewing point of Greece and further east, the
“awful revolution,” whose tragic stages and ignominious end was
traced by Gibbon in the provinces of Western Europe, concerned
a distant region. Here was a different story told under a different,
more peaceful, eastern sky: the preparation, throughout the
territories still ruled from Constantinople by Roman emperors, of
a Byzantine civilization that would last for a further millennium.
We must remember—simply in order to preserve a sense of
proportion—that, for much of this time, events in Western Europe
could be regarded, from the east, as a sideshow. The east stood
out as the more peaceful and more prosperous region. No church
built in the west equaled the size and majesty of the Hagia
Sophia built by the emperor Justinian in Constantinople. This
prosperity was not confined to the capital. In recent years,
archaeologists in Jordan have discovered in Madaba (as in other
similar large villages) as many churches as existed in all of Paris
around the year 600. Many of the brilliant mosaics that delight
us in this exhibition were laid, by proud and prosperous owners,
a century after such mosaics had vanished forever from the
derelict villas of Gaul, Spain, and Britain.
What we see in this exhibition is particularly valuable. We
are given a glimpse of a rich and confident world, as this has
been caught—from the ground up, as it were—in the archaeological
remains of Greece. But Greece was only one (and by no means
the most prosperous) of the many provinces of an eastern world
to whom Gibbon’s majestic narrative of decline and fall in Western
Europe simply did not apply.
So what does this journey in search of a world beyond the
classical ancient world teach us as scholars? And what are the
features of the civilization that emerged in the period of Late
Antiquity that might speak to us in our own times?
In the first place, we have developed a far greater respect
than previously held for the manner in which Late Antiquity still
moved to rhythms inherited from the ancient world. We are not
dealing with a world that had broken brutally with its own
classical past. It was not a world overshadowed by bleak ruins.
Rather, it was a world that grew tenaciously from the deep soil

of the ancient Mediterranean. It changed dramatically, as a
robust ecological niche can change in balance and intensity. But
this exuberant growth was not checked, as if by some toxic
effluvium. It continued to bloom. It often bloomed in ways that
would have disconcerted classical persons (as it continues to
disconcert those modern persons who have admiration only for
Greeks and Romans of the classical age). But the one thing it did
not do was shrivel.
It is worthwhile emphasizing this element of continuity in
the culture of Late Antiquity and in the deployment of its
technical skills. Those who pass through this exhibition with the
essays of this catalogue in hand will be struck by the number of
times the authors of these essays point to the continuities in
craftsmanship, in function, and in taste, which bind together
artifacts that seem at first glance to belong to widely different
worlds. To take only one vivid example: looking at the row of
splendid portrait busts of philosophers and Christian saints, we
can almost see ancient stones change over time. At a silent,
almost glacial pace, the heads of pagan philosophers of the 3rd
century become the heads of Christian apostles of the 6th.
Although the one was pagan and the other Christian, although
one came from the middle of the crisis of the 3rd century and the
other from the reign of the emperor Justinian, each looked more
like the other than either of them looked like a portrait of the
classical age. For both belonged to the same age, an age in which
pagans and Christians alike had come to admire novel heroes
and heroines whose eyes and minds strained to penetrate the
mysteries of God. Both breathed the strange air of Late Antiquity.
So what was distinctive about that air? Let us look briefly at
the principal features of the civilization of Late Antiquity as it
has come to strike modern scholars.
First and foremost, I would stress the unparalleled outreach
of the Late Antique civilization of the eastern empire of the 4th,
5th, and 6th centuries. This outreach was both social and
geographical. Though awesomely hierarchical in many ways,
the world of Late Antiquity always had room for the little man.
Indeed, it was hierarchical precisely because hierarchy itself was
not seen as a series of defensive walls thrown up around a fixed
elite, like those surrounding the feudal nobilities of Western
Europe or Sasanian Iran. In the eastern empire, hierarchy was a
ladder. It was a way of channeling the constant pressure created
by the upward mobility of persons and ideas from below.
This was a ladder frequently climbed by the enterprising
and the ruthless, but it was also a ladder that enabled the
splendor of the rich and powerful to trickle downward (as we
see so often in this exhibition) in the form of household
ornaments, of cheap copies of prestige works (where ceramic
and stucco work make do for gold, silver, and precious marble),

and of downscale forms of personal adornment. These have
been discovered by archaeologists all over Greece. Small objects
in themselves, they call for us to spend time with them, for they
show the ladder of Late Antique society at work along its lower
rungs. They echoed among relatively humble persons (townsfolk,
minor civic notables, comfortable farmers in provincial Greece)
the eerie majesty of the court of Constantinople.
The same ladder ensured that ideas debated at the top of
society circulated, more widely perhaps than ever before, through
all levels of the population. The rise of Christianity added an entire
new dimension to the flow of ideas around the Mediterranean
and along the western shores of the Middle East. The rallying of
large urban congregations and of entire regions to differing
versions of the Christian faith was a major feature of the great
theological controversies of the 4th and 5th centuries. This
phenomenon provoked no more than a sneer in Edward Gibbon,
but it should be seen as part of a remarkable “democratization”
of culture. For the first time perhaps since the days of the Greek
democracies, the voices of little men and women made themselves
heard throughout the Mediterranean and the Middle East—
this time on religious issues that were capable of gripping entire
congregations from top to bottom.
The churches of the Late Antique period that have been
excavated in Greece as elsewhere survive now only in their silent
stones. But at the time they were far from being dim, hushed
places. Blazing with light, they were filled with the noise of
chanting, sermonizing, and protest. By the time of Justinian, the
great Christian basilicas and the spacious courtyards through
which they were approached had emerged as the forums of a
new urban society.
The traffic of ideas up and down the ladder ensured that
Greek culture (largely but not exclusively in Christian form)
spilled out of the narrow confines to which it had been limited
in classical times. Late Antique Christianity was exuberantly
multilingual. In large areas of the Middle East, Syriac rose to
equality with Greek as a language of hymns, of lives and legends
of florid saints, and of long, poetic meditation on the Scriptures.
Ancient languages, such as Coptic, Armenian, Georgian, and
Ge’ez, were written down in order to do justice to local Christian
heroes and, at the same time, to keep up with the pace of
universal Christian debates that took place in every language of
the Mediterranean and the Middle East.
By the year 500, the proud “empire of the Romans” could
no longer think of itself as living in splendid isolation. It had
come to be flanked by a “commonwealth” of Christian kingdoms
that stretched from the Caucasus to Ethiopia. Mediterranean
Christianity was linked to a wider Christian world through a
series of churches that stretched across Mesopotamia and Iran

peter brown

23

as far as Xi’an, the western capital of China. The frontiers of the
Late Antique world had burst open to look out on a world of
faith whose horizons were wider even than those once opened
up by the conquests of Alexander the Great.
It is tempting to linger with enjoyment on this fact. But it is
important to add that this unprecedented outreach also helps us
to explain what, to modern persons, are some of the more
disturbing aspects of Late Antique civilization: that is, its high
levels of intolerance and its apparent valuing of aggressive
conflictual attitudes toward imagined “others”—heretics, pagans,
and Jews. From the time of Gibbon to the recent showing of the
death of Hypatia in the Spanish film Agorá, these acts of
intolerance have played a large role in the popular horror movie
of the decline of Rome.
Yet such intolerance is better explained as an almost
systemic reaction to the remarkable outreach of the civilization
of Late Antiquity. We are dealing with a world that had opened
itself to The Other to an unusual degree. Areas of experience,
persons, social groups, and entire societies that had lain beneath
the supremely aristocratic field of vision of classical Greeks and
Romans came to press in around the consciousness of Late
Antique people. The result was a society more than usually
conscious of its own anomalies.
Some civilizations are based on the successful exclusion of
anomaly. They have a graciousness that comes from supreme
obliviousness to structures and values other than their own.
Other civilizations are more open to anomaly. The civilization
of Late Antiquity was one of those. Areas of life and of personal
experience that had once been treated as if they occurred on
another planet came to be caught in the great web of the Late
Antique imagination. They stirred up both fear and longing
through their novel closeness.
Take one well-known example of fear that came from
closeness: attitudes to the barbarian. Along the frontiers of the
Roman world, the barbarians had once been treated (by all
except the few military experts) as if they lived on another
planet. In Late Antiquity this world came to mingle with the
Romans, and constant contact between the two worlds was the
great open secret of the age. It produced the robustly hybrid
military culture of the early Byzantine world, whose generals
and fighting units were recruited from as far apart as the Danube
and the Caucasus.
So diverse a world could no longer be ignored. In the time
of Marcus Aurelius, Galen could claim that he wrote only for
those who lived in the charmed circle of Greece and Rome: “I no
more write for Germans than I would write for bears and wolves”
(Galen, de sanitate tuenda 1.10, ed. Kühn 1825, 51). Such
haughtiness would have carried little weight in a Constantinople

24

introduction late antiquity

where even the emperor Theodosios II was one-eighth Frankish,
and where the workshops of the imperial city turned out
ornaments in “barbarian” style, studded with garnets from
Afghanistan and decorated with motifs that had passed from
China to the Black Sea. Art that we usually associate with
“Germanic” barbarians came, in fact, from the very heart of the
cosmopolitan eastern Roman Empire, while, to the east, the
court of Constantinople remained in constant and fruitful
cultural contact with Sasanian Iran.
The waves of anti-barbarian feeling that characterize Roman
opinion in both east and west in the 5th century are well known.
They have usually been taken at face value as reactions to a real
threat of submersion by marauding hordes. As a result, the
onslaught of the barbarian always plays a sinister role in the
modern horror movie of the fall of Rome. In reality, the fear of
the barbarian was a tribute to the fact that, for good or ill, the
barbarian had come to stay. From being a creature from another
world, the barbarian had become an “inner demon” firmly
installed in the Late Antique imagination as a live-in enemy—as
a threat, a neighbor, and a resource all in one.
A civilization that had opened itself up to so many new
groups, each of which brought with it a novel and disturbing
sense of anomaly, had to pay a price. This price was a fierce
desire for order, in which troubling anomalies would be excluded
or kept in their proper place. We can see this most clearly when
we turn to the rise of Christianity in the Late Antique period and
to the fate of the paganism that Christianity was supposed to
have replaced.
The pagan was the “inner barbarian” par excellence of the
Christian imagination. The very proximity of pagans and Christians
as worshipers and neighbors within the same cities—which is so
vividly documented in the first part of this exhibition—ensured
that both groups suffered more than usually sharply from the
sense of anomaly generated by close contact. In the 3rd century,
pagans persecuted Christians so fiercely precisely because they
were not alien to them: they were ordinary townsfolk like
themselves, who, for no apparent reason, held back from the
universal practice of worshiping the gods. In later centuries,
Christians persecuted pagans for very similar reasons. Here were
people just like themselves. Many, in fact, were their grandparents
and great grandparents. (Indeed, one Christian lady whose
impeccably Christian tomb was discovered in the great cemetery
at Demetrias—near Volos—claimed, without a hint of
embarrassment, to be descended from Achilles!) Yet they
opposed the rise of the Christian church and refused to see that
its alliance with the empire through the Christian successors of
Constantine had ushered in a brave new age.

More dangerous yet was the fact that pagans stood for the
mighty weight of a past that was shared by pagans and Christians
alike. Christians of the time called pagans “Hellenes”—Greeks
who had remained mired in the worship of the ancient gods of
Greece. But like their Christian neighbors, they were nonetheless
Greeks. At any moment their thoughts might come alive again
in Christian minds. The beloved images of their gods (which
surrounded Jews and Christians in every city of the Mediterranean)
might stir again with uncanny vigor. As late as the end of the 7th
century, a respectable Christian woman was disturbed by
frequent dreams that she was “standing in the Hippodrome [of
Constantinople] . . . kissing the statues that stood there, urged
by an indecent desire to have intercourse with them” (The Life
of St Andrew the Fool, 35.2491–2493, ed. L. Rydén 1995, 174).
Her nightmares showed that Christians were faced by the
greatest anomaly of all. They claimed to be living in a bright new
future, yet all around them—from family memories at shared
tombs and village pilgrimages to ancient sacred caves to the
monumental facades of great cities—little had changed. They
could never be quite sure that they would ever become Christian
enough to put this troubling past behind them.
Hence we should never underestimate the achievement
implied in the room devoted to the Christian basilica in Late
Antiquity. For the victory of the Christian church in Late Antiquity
was by no means a foregone conclusion. Paganism did not
obligingly roll over and die, leaving the field open to a triumphant
church. Instead, the victory of Christianity was the result of
slow, hard labor on the imagination of an entire society, in order
to produce (through constant dialogue and confrontation with
non-Christians) a clearly focused Christian thought-world. In
this immense imaginative adventure, churches great and small
represented fragile islands of Christian order. They had been
built up, slowly but surely, over the course of the 4th and 5th
centuries. But they only came to stand out with a novel certainty
in the age of Justinian.
In such churches, believers of all levels of wealth and culture
could gather in an environment from which the anomalies that
were still rife in the streets of cities and in private homes were
excluded. Great crosses carried in procession, placed on mosaics
or carved on large marble panels along with innumerable smaller
crosses, provided the faithful with condensations of the sacred
that were shorn of the ambiguities that still hovered around
other forms of art and sculpture. Images of the saints began to
emerge (still somewhat tentatively) at this time—in the 6th
century, that is, and no earlier. They were charged with the same
sense of the loving presence of the absent dead as had once
inspired the gripping mummy portraits of Egypt. But these

beloved dead were now the special dead; they were the saints,
who opened the doors to a Christian otherworld whose outlines
had become ever more certain with the passing of time.
Above all, over the years, the solemn drama of the liturgy
slowly soaked every moment of the year and every corner of the
church with Christian meaning. One thing that the silence of an
exhibition room cannot convey is the web of sacred sound that
the Christian liturgy had begun to spin around the life of the
average believer. Yet, maybe, in the end, it was the liturgy that
proved decisive.
In the words of Dom Gregory Dix, the author of The Shape
of the Liturgy: “This is the joint creation of Greek Christian
theology and the old Hellenic public spirit, working together on
a Syrian rite. Along with the Digest of Justinian, it is the greatest
legacy of Byzantine thought to the world.” And, like the legal
codes of Justinian, the early Byzantine liturgy represented a
victory of order forged in the midst of manifold anomalies. It
was these anomalies, and the ordered response they elicited over
the years, that rendered the civilization of Late Antiquity
uniquely dynamic. It was the last and the most open of the great
ages of antiquity.
Of this great story an exhibition can show only fragments.
But it is precisely because in this exhibition we meet so many
fragments (often revealed to us by happenstance through the
rare enterprise and skill of Greek archaeologists) that we meet
what we most wish to meet. These poignant fragments of a longlost age speak to us directly of what it was like, on the ground,
to live through an era of mighty transition.
It is this that brings them closest to us. For we, also, live in
a world of change whose horizons have opened up dramatically.
We, also, do not know the future. In this we are like the sturdy
peasants of early Byzantium, poised between two ages, as they have
been unforgettably described for us in the poem of Kostis Palamas
(Life Immovable. A hundred voices. Third night, no. 53):
We are neither Christians nor pagans,
With crosses and with idols,
We are trying to build a new life
Whose name is not yet known.

late antiquity: a period of
cultural interaction
Ja´s Elsner
In the history of art, Late Antiquity has always had an uncomfortable position. It is the archetypal period of artistic transition,
which sits between the glories of Greco-Roman naturalism and
the heights of Christian art in Byzantium and the medieval west.
It has unfortunately, but perhaps inevitably, been long seen as a
kind of nadir—the point to which the classical tradition declined
and the point of primitive origins from which Christian art
arose. The historical causes that have been summoned to explain
the changes apparent in Late Antique art include the model of a
crisis internal to the Roman Empire during the 3rd century (in
which is posited the loss of artists and the collapse of stylistic
canons upheld for a near millennium) and the model of an
assault on the integrity of Greco-Roman art by the external
styles and forms espoused by varieties of outsiders, including
the adherents of the “Oriental” religious cults of the east and the
numerous tribes of barbarians who invaded from the north.
The stories told to give these suggested causes substance, which
all have long literatures and complex agendas in the histories of
the European nations within which they were created, are
contradictory, except insofar as they collude in a general agreement
on Late Antique art as a time of transition: its importance was to be
measured in what it brought to an end and what it prepared for.
Needless to say, I think these kinds of narratives are largely
self-serving and always based on selective evidence. Most people
would deny them today, although hints of their underlying
positions continually resurface in versions of the current account
of a vibrant and exciting Late Antiquity as a period of
fundamental transformation in European, North African, and
Near Eastern cultures. The key art-historical issue in a period of
radical cultural transformation is the coexistence of innovation
and originality, with continuity reaching back into a wide range
of deep-seated traditions, not only Greek and Roman but also
Pharaonic and Ptolemaic Egyptian, Mesopotamian and Persian,
Semitic, African, and indigenous pre-Roman in the north (from
Spain via Britain to Gaul, Germany, and Dacia) and also brought
by “barbarian” tribes in the period of invasions that began at
the end of the 2nd century. We may see the objects in the
exhibition from the cults of Isis, Magna Mater (Kybele), and
Mithras as representing not only specific religious affiliations,
but also the grounding of these religions in non-normative,
non-Greco-Roman styles and iconographies (by contrast with
the statuettes of deities from Corinth) that evoke the mysteries
of the east in a general way. The extent of the period of transformation that constitutes what we might call “Late Antique
art” thus stretches over a very long span of time (one might even
say a millennium, from the beginning of the Christian era to
about 1000, if we include the survival of certain kinds of
Hellenizing styles and mythological subject matter in Byzantium).

26

It also covers a very wide geographic spread across all parts of
the Mediterranean and deep into the hinterlands beyond. In
terms of cultural spread, the heritage of ancient Greek and
Roman artistic forms and of redefining them to meet new
religious, social, and local concerns extends well beyond
Christian art in the Mediterranean to Sasanian art in Persia, to
early Islamic art (especially that of the Umayyad dynasty) and to
the Buddhist arts of Gandhara as far from Europe as Afghanistan
and Pakistan. What we may call cultural interaction is both an
interrogation of forms, styles, and subject matter across this vast
extent of space and an integration of varieties of pasts and
cultural heritages, most quite distinctive and exclusive of others
at any rate in their origins. In this sense, Late Antique art both
created a new series of syntheses from the varieties of local visual
traditions of the Roman Empire and in the Mediterranean area
settled into its own new localisms—loosely related to a range of
metropolitan centers and provincial capitals such as Rome,
Antioch, Alexandria, Thessaloniki, Jerusalem, Arelate (Arles),
Ravenna, and, of course, Constantinople. Above all, Late
Antiquity saw the powerful, sometimes very eclectic, harnessing
of old forms and materials for new purposes and styles, especially
within the borders of the Roman Empire for the needs of a new
religion that few in 300 would have taken very seriously. By 400
it had not only supplanted but was busy making illegal all the
other religions of the pagan polytheistic environment.
Issues of change and cultural interaction are by no means
limited to the visual arts, but there is no doubt that the forms,
styles, and uses of objects partook of a wider phenomenon. If one
were to open with an example, then the comparison of two
images just under three centuries apart demonstrates well how
wary we should be of overgeneralizations. The marble statue
of Flavios Palmatos (Flavius
Palmatus), consular governor of
Caria and acting vicar of Asiana,
was set up on a high base (nearly
as tall as the slightly over-lifesize statue itself) in front of the
west colonnade of the tetrastoon
square before the theater of
Aphrodisias, a prime spot in the
monumental heart of the Late
Antique city center, probably in
the early years of the 6th century,
but at any rate before the post of
vicar was abolished by Justinian
in 535 (fig. 1).

The inscription on its base reads:
To Good Fortune. The renewer and founder of the
metropolis and benefactor of all Caria, Flavios Palmatos,
distinguished Consular Governor also holding the position
of most magnificent Vicar; Flavios Athenaios, most splendid
father of the most splendid metropolis of the Aphrodisians
set up [this statue] in gratitude.
Wearing the distinctive and modern form of Late Antique toga,
fashionable among high dignitaries in his time, carrying both the
mappa (napkin) in his right hand and a consular baton or scepter
of office in his left (the top unfortunately broken off), Palmatos
has a stubbly beard and a magnificently executed “mop”
hairstyle of a kind found in other Late Antique statues from the
east. His is the best-preserved late Roman portrait monument
surviving. It attests to the remarkable longevity of the genre of
honorific portrait statues with inscribed bases from archaic and
classical antiquity through to the 6th century. This kind of
conservatism is apparent also in busts of philosophers and
intellectuals, which emulated in later antiquity the kinds of
3rd-century busts displayed in the exhibition. Although the
image of Palmatos, in its particularities of personal styling and
dress (which are cosmopolitan, indeed Constantinopolitan), is
strikingly modern and à la mode for the years immediately after
500, its function, material form, place and context of setting,
and, indeed, its honorific purpose are fundamentally traditional.
An object like this, from one of the great cities of Asia Minor,
which as late as the 6th century preserved its ancient civic
amenities and the capacity for producing superb sculpture of
this kind, attests to pockets of profound continuity with the
cultural patterns, social and political traditions, and public
visual benefactions of the Roman Empire since its foundation,
and of the Hellenistic world before it.
Yet while Palmatos’s image is a newly cut figure and head,
other Late Antique statue-monuments found near it—and clearly
part of the same commemorative civic esplanade—were made by
the addition of a modern or re-cut portrait head to a recycled
2nd-century body, whose old-fashioned form of toga gave the
resulting image a very different, perhaps antiquarian or
archaizing feel. One significant example close by Palmatos was a
statue of the emperor Theodosios (we are not sure which of the
two with that name), originally set up for Julian the Apostate
but dedicated to its new honorand between the late 4th and the
mid-5th century, with a re-carved Julio-Claudian head set on a
2nd-century toga figure. Palmatos’s statue is traditional, not
only in its genre of honorific dedication but also in the fact that
it marks subtle differences of appearance within the tradition as
a claim to specific distinction (like the choices made in imperial
portraiture to differentiate between the styling of the members
of any one dynasty and their predecessors and successors): its
modernity differs from the old-fashioned appearance of
Theodosios, for instance. At the same time, Palmatos’s base in
fact comprises two reused bases from earlier honorific statues,
one placed on top of the other, with the addition of a new
inscription and the creation of an unusual interrupted or double

profile for the newly created base. The entire monument thus
combines the dynamics of new sculpture in an ancient tradition
with the remarkable Late Antique passion for spolia, the re-use
of earlier monuments in new contexts and sometimes for very
different functions (although not in this case), which is
characteristic of Late Antique art and well exemplified by the
Theodosios monument nearby, or indeed in the exhibition’s
3rd-century bust portrait remodeled as a saint in the 7th or 8th
century (cat. no. 11).

By contrast we might take a painting from the synagogue
discovered in the 1930s in Dura Europos in Syria (fig. 2), which
shows the prophet Samuel, depicted larger than the accompanying
figures in Greco-Roman dress, anointing the youthful David in
the midst of his brothers, the sons of Jesse (1 Samuel 16:5–13,
although curiously the text mentions seven sons in addition to
David, whereas the image only shows six, following a different
tradition reported by 1 Chronicles 2:13–15). The subject was
indeed labeled “Samuel anointing David” in an Aramaic titulus
on the green ground to the left of Samuel’s right shoulder, in case
there should be any doubt. Here we find many aspects of cultural
interaction in the sense of the borrowing from the artistic styles
of the Palmyrene and indeed Parthian context. The mural—like
that of Mithras and Helios in the exhibition (cat. no. 7), of
closely similar date and from a cult building on the same street
in Dura Europos—adopts a flattened-out, frontal style that
avoids naturalism of space and spatial setting; that rejects
individualism of posture, facial features, or expression; that
eschews a realism of relative dimensions to make Samuel much
larger than the sons of Jesse. Yet this is combined with traditional
Roman forms of dress, recognizably close to Palmatos in terms
both of chosen costume and posture—the sorts of dress that
were presumably dominant in the city of Dura when the mural

jas´ elsner

27

was made, no later than 245, in the period when the city was
under Roman rule as it had been since 165. The mix of Roman
and Syrian elements helped create a new iconography for a
religion that may only then have been developing an extended
narrative tradition for representing its scriptures. (The Dura
Synagogue remains our most extended ancient Jewish visual
cycle of biblical narratives and one of our earliest; it was more
common for Judaism to proclaim itself in art by means of symbols
like the menorahs on a capital in the exhibition [cat. no. 8]). The
Dura Synagogue paintings absolutely foreshadow the ways
Christian art would borrow from the multiple visual traditions
of the Roman environment to create its own iconographies in
the following couple of centuries.
The contrast of this Durene image and the statue of
Palmatos (allowing, of course, for their very different functions
and materials) is telling. Palmatos exists in real space—a threedimensional presence in realistic costume met on the Roman
street by his viewers (albeit at double their height). His insignia
speaks of real social meanings—government, administration,
the imperial system within which a city like Aphrodisias could
continue to flourish into the 6th century. Samuel, David, and his
brothers exist in an entirely flat and frontal anti-naturalistic space,
placed against a uniform green background with no hint of a
setting, affirming a semi-mythical sacred history of Jewish kingship
in the era after the fall of the temple (which had originally been
built by David’s son, Solomon) and the Diaspora of the Jews.
Both images use inscriptions, but that of Palmatos grounds the
statue in its honorand’s social and public distinctions, as well as
praising the local dedicator of the statue, whereas the Dura wall
painting places its subject matter firmly in the sacred world of
scripture, Jewish religious history, and its liturgical reenactments.
Yet the important historical lesson from this comparison is that
the Durene mural, which portends the rise of medieval Christian
art in many ways, is in fact a little under 300 years earlier than
the much more traditionally Roman portrait monument of
Palmatos. The arts of Late Antiquity exist in a complex play of
multiple styles, forms, and themes, which cannot be reduced to
any simple movement of change along a straight line. Indeed,
part of their richness is that the very longevity of certain kinds of
ancient formal and functional options, such as honorific statue
dedications like the Palmatos monument, existed side by side for
centuries with new religious imaginaires exemplified by the Dura
Synagogue and by later Christian art.
One might indeed see the trends exemplified by both these
very different works as unified in a famous masterpiece of early
Byzantine art, which dates to less than fifty years after the
making and dedicating of the statue of Flavios Palmatos (and
indeed may be less than twenty years later, if the Palmatos statue
is as late as 530). One of the famous mosaic panels in the
presbytery of the church of San Vitale in Ravenna, set up about
546–48 on its northern wall, represents the emperor Justinian
(emperor 527–65) with his suite of accompanying officials and
clergy (fig. 3). In many ways the Justinian panel is strikingly like
the anointing of David from Dura, made 300 years earlier. The
emperor, like the future king, stands frontally in the center and

28

is robed in purple. His surrounding retinue frames him
symmetrically, against a background that is virtually abstract—a
plain green from top to base in Dura, a gold backing in Ravenna
with a green strip for the ground. Both images effectively float
their subjects in an indeterminate space that combines secular
and sacred company: David’s brothers but also the prophet
Samuel, Justinian’s bodyguard (carrying the chi-rho sign of
Jesus’ name on the shield prominently placed to the lower left),
his officials immediately to his left, and the ecclesiastical party,
including the prominently labeled bishop Maximian of Ravenna,
on the right. Both images belie the static and iconic feel of their
form by depicting a ritual process: the anointing of David, which
prefigures his kingship, and Justinian’s carrying of liturgical gifts
as he walks toward the sanctuary (and its image of Christ as
emperor in the apse) to the east. Indeed, both images come from
within sacred space and function to define the sanctity of that
space as a ritually consecrated building and to use that sanctity
to reinforce the social order of kingship—the historical and
scriptural moment of independent Jewish kingship in the case of
David and the modern Byzantine empire as it reconquered Italy
in the mid-6th century under its spectacular ruler Justinian.
At the same time, Justinian and his companions come from
the same court and imperial setting that produced Palmatos.
Justinian’s imperial officials to his immediate left have versions
of the same mop hairstyle as Palmatos, as perhaps the emperor
himself does beneath his jeweled diadem. Several figures wear
light beards like that of Palmatos, notably Justinian’s slight
stubble; and all retain a severe expression similar to that worn
by Palmatos. Although none of the Ravenna figures wears the
same form of toga or carries the same instruments of office as
Palmatos, the mosaic’s fascination with the opulence of official
dress and with items that denote function or status—from the
paten carried by Justinian to the cross, book, and censer borne
by the clerics—echoes the substantive interest in these matters in
the Palmatos statue. That is, there is a very good case for
claiming that the Palmatos statue represents public, official,
three-dimensional art of the 6th century, available in the open
air of a main civic thoroughfare in a provincial capital, while
the Justinian panel represents something similar on the
two-dimensional plane available in interior space and in this
case the sanctified space of a church, also in a provincial capital.
It is true that Justinian is surrounded by his retinue, whereas
Palmatos appears to us as a statue in splendid isolation; but the
unique archaeological preservation of the site where the Palmatos
monument was found (fallen from its base, with the base still in
situ) shows it to have been one statue within a range of honorific
dedications that included several other high officials and, as we
have seen, a Late Antique statue of the emperor Theodosios. In
other words, Palmatos too belonged to an idealized visualization
of the court, this time an open-air affair of multiple statues
erected over a long period of time.
Modern scholarship has seen the Justinian panel as a highly
abstracted, heavily ritualized formulation of court culture
looking back to such non-classical precedents as the Dura
painting and looking forward to the Byzantine icon. It is taken

as an archetypal instance of the transformations of Late Antiquity
away from naturalism and toward the Byzantine middle ages.
Alois Riegl, writing at the end of the Hapsburg era in the Vienna
of 1901, described it thus in a classic formalist account:
Take the ceremonial picture representing Justinian and
Maximian. A composition on the plane: centralised; just
verticals (contour, folds, ornaments; the axiality is only
slightly reduced in the figure of Maximian) and horizontals
(lines of heads, feet, garment-seams and arms). Spatial
composition: the figures step frontally out of space in the
direction of the beholder and stare straight at him; even
though the main group shows partial overlaps on the plane,
along with the entourage of five body guards in three rows,
the main group is compressed into one compact plane-like
mass leaving no visible space between the figures. The
floating of the feet repeats the phenomenon (already observed
in the more advanced style early Christian sarcophagi from

Rome) by which the foreground figures appear to step on
the feet of the ones behind them; this is obvious proof that
the artist’s aim was a complete isolation of the individual
figures in space, even at the price of sacrificing the connection
to the plane (in this case the connection of the feet with the
ground below); linear folds (corresponding to the engraved
folds in sculpture), yet inclined towards pleating (as can be
seen particularly in the double lines). All this, along with
the slim, elongated and stilted-bodily proportions (together
with a reduction in head size) largely establish a relationship
with the subsequent Byzantine style, which is generally the
most characteristic aspect of the style of these mosaics.
How one can speak of “decline” in view of works such as
the San Vitale mosaics, is incomprehensible since every line
demonstrates clear planning and a positive will…?
A. Riegl, Late Roman Art Industry (1901), adapted
from the translation by R. Winkes. Rome 1985, 139

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29

Ernst Gombrich, perhaps thinking of this description without
referring to it explicitly, wrote of the same panel nearly sixty
years later in a deeply political interpretation that saw the
representation of Justinian at San Vitale as implicitly totalitarian:
It has become unfashionable to call this reorientation a
“decline” and indeed it is hard to use such a word when one
stands in San Vitale in Ravenna. The gleam of the mosaics,
the intense gaze of the worshipping Emperor, the ceremonial
dignity of the scene show the image has recovered some of
the potency it once had. But it owes its very strength to this
direct contact with the beholder. It no longer waits to be
wooed and interpreted but seeks to awe him into submission.
Art has again become an instrument and a change of function
results in a change of form. The Byzantine icon is not
conceived as a free “fiction”; it somehow partakes of the
nature of a Platonic truth.
E. Gombrich, Art and Illusion. London 1960, 125
Yet whatever one thinks of these two classic statements about
this panel in the history of art, which demonstrate the range of
formal and ideological ends to which the problems of Late
Antique art have been taken in the past century, it may be that
the Justinian image is simply the two-dimensional mosaic
equivalent of the Palmatos statue: one of them apparently
radically innovative (by our—perhaps mistaken—standards)
and the other radically traditional. Their coexistence is what
defines their period most fundamentally. One might even argue
that the move in Late Antiquity, especially after the 6th century,
to images aesthetically and formally more like the Justinian
panel at San Vitale and less like Flavios Palmatos, has little to do
with artistic decisions as such. Rather, it is social changes in
relation to the decline of urban culture and cities that rendered
three-dimensional statuary in public settings redundant, while
the visual arts came more and more to serve the elite needs of the
court or the sacred needs of the Church. The visual seeds of
these moves may be traced in a final comparison of images from
within broadly the same cultural moment within Justinian’s
6th-century Byzantine Empire as both the Ravenna mosaic and
the Palmatos statue.
Among the earliest icons to survive from Byzantium, now in
the monastery of St. Catherine at Mount Sinai, are a few great
6th-century examples on the large scale, used, one presumes, for
liturgical processions and public veneration, made in the ancient
encaustic technique with hot wax as the medium to hold the
pigment. The great panel of the Virgin enthroned between two
saints, perhaps St. Theodore and St. George, has the saints
staring frontally at the viewer while the Virgin and Child both
look askance, with ethereal angels in white behind her gazing up
at the hand of God. This is as great a statement of imperial
monarchy as the Justinian mosaic from San Vitale, whose basic
form of a regally enthroned Virgin is emulated by a number of
ivories, large-scale mosaics, and textiles from the 6th century.
But its monarchy is not of this world, although it appropriates
many of the formal features we have seen—notably the obsession
with lavish dress and the status symbols of office, such as
crosses in the hands of the saints and staffs held by the angels,

30

as well as even the mop hairstyle on the beardless saint at the
right. In the secular sphere of the most elite court art, this
icon may be compared with the two surviving central panels
(in extraordinarily deep relief), now in Florence and Vienna,
from what were once probably five-panel ivory diptychs depicting
an empress standing and an empress enthroned within a
magnificent curtained aedicule, perhaps originally flanked by
acolytes as the Virgin is flanked by saints.

Likewise, the collection at Sinai possesses a superb 6th-century
panel-icon of St. Peter holding both the keys of his office and a
cross, in a curved niche with three small circular medallions of
Christ between two figures, perhaps Mary and St. John, placed
above (fig. 4). Here we have the sacred equivalent of a high
government dignitary—a prime saint appointed by Jesus to be
the rock of his church and the keeper of the keys to Heaven
(Matthew 16:18–19)—who stands between the congregation
and the divine world, offering spiritual intercession, as does the
secular minister who stands between the emperor and his
populace. A series of ivory diptychs, such as those issued by the
aristocrat Anastasios in 517 to celebrate his accession to the

late antiquity: a period of cultural interaction

consulship in Constantinople, depict the consul enthroned with
three medallions above him that have the emperor in the center,
the empress to the right (where the Virgin is placed in the Sinai
St. Peter icon), and a more youthful male figure (perhaps a
co-consul, perhaps an imagined heir for the elderly emperor
Anastasios I, who was to die childless in 518) on the left (fig. 5).
Here again we have a version of the frontal gaze, the mop
hairstyle, and the opulence of dress and accoutrements of office.
Just like Palmatos, although in a different posture, Anastasios
holds the mappa in his right hand and an eagle-tipped scepter
with an imperial bust in the tondo between the eagle’s

outstretched wings. Just as St. Peter is placed between the beholder
and the heavenly sphere, figured by the medallions above him on
a gold ground that like his halo break through the polychrome
space of his immediate setting, so Anastasios sits between the
imperial party, figured by the medallions, and the populace of
Rome (actually represented in the bottom of the right-hand wing
of the diptych by the spectators watching the arena). Both images
perform an act of mediation and intercession within an imagined
hierarchy—St. Peter as the key holder of Heaven bridging the
gap between this world and the Other world, Anastasios as
consul placed between the populace and the emperor.
The Anastasios diptych is itself structured as a large fullbody portrait (like Palmatos) set over a base, beneath the consul,
which shows images of the public benefactions bestowed by him
on the populace, perhaps a theatrical performance on the left-

hand side and games involving wild beasts in the amphitheater
to the right. This pattern, on the low-relief surface on a relatively
miniature scale and in a highly expensive medium, emulates the
large-scale use of elaborate carved bases with relief imagery, as
well as inscriptions that were popular in Constantinople in the
530s and 540s for charioteers, like a named figure called
Porphyrios, for whom we have two extant examples. The pattern
reflects elite status and the circulation of expensive gifts that
were simultaneously calling cards in the circle of the imperial
court and its high officials. But it creates on the level of public
administration a hierarchical or iconic model of imagery that is
closely related to the divine hierarchy implicit in the icon and
claimed by the emperor in the imperial panel of San Vitale,
where Justinian—in the halo of a saint—stands between the
populace and the triumphant Christ of the apse as himself a kind
of intercessor.
In the pluralism of kinds of objects, the developed arts of
Late Antiquity in the reign of Justinian echo and develop
elements of the much earlier melting pot of styles, visual
allusions, and religious references in the arts of the 3rd and 4th
centuries, which are so well represented by the cultural
interchange section of the exhibition. Yet in the polytheist
pluralism of the pagan empire, the range of cult affiliations and
more-or-less religious mythologies affirmed through images was
extraordinarily large, varying from very local sects and deities
via widely dispersed salvific and soteriological cults of initiation
(such as Mithraism and Christianity, the cults of Isis and Magna
Mater) to official civic religion. In contrast, by the 6th century
(and indeed already after the late 4th century), this diversity had
been radically reduced, as Christianity’s pagan rivals were
ruthlessly extirpated with all the vigor that Christians believed
had once been directed at their own persecution. The exhibition’s
sacrificial implements from the House of Proklos at Athens
(cat. nos. 3a–d) represent rare material evidence of the secret,
private, and dangerously illegal continuation of pre-Christian
ritual practices as late as the 5th and 6th centuries. The visual
pluralism of the mainstream in 6th-century art lay in its mix
of Christian-sacred and elite-secular emphases and its use of
non-Christian traditional mythological or civic imagery for
non-liturgical contexts—from the public street (as with the
Palmatos monument) to the private domain of the bedroom and
the dining room, from the kinds of imagery used in the baths to
that appropriate for the toilette. In such cases, as in the statue of
Palmatos, highly traditional styles, techniques, visual forms, and
subject matter remained long in play at the same time as and in
concert with the more spiritually abstracted forms we have come
to see as typical of Byzantine art, such as the stone pilgrim’s
token with St. Paul and St. Andrew in the exhibition (cat. no. 13).
Bibliography
Kraeling 1956; Gombrich 1960; Grabar 1967; Grabar 1968;
Bianchi Bandinelli 1971; Brown 1971; Cameron 1973; Perkins
1973; Volbach 1976; Weitzmann 1976; Kitzinger 1977; Riegl 1985;
Smith 1990; Weitzmann – Kessler 1990; Elsner 1995; Elsner 1998;
Smith 1999; Elsner 2004; Olovsdotter 2005; Deliyannis 2010.

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31

the rise of christianity:
from recognition to authority
Averil Cameron
The reign of Constantine I (fig. 1) marked a key change in the
status of Christianity in the Roman Empire. Even though
significant moves had already been made toward acceptance
during the 3rd century, persecution began again under Diocletian
and the tetrarchs and was still a live issue until Constantine’s
final defeat of his last rival and co-emperor, Licinius, in 324.
Constantine was the son of Constantius Chlorus, who had risen
to the rank of Caesar and then Augustus under the tetrarchic
system. As emperor, from May 305 and based in Britain and
Gaul, Constantius is said not to have carried out the official
policy of persecution of Christians; he did, however, destroy
churches, for which the Latin writer Lactantius, tutor to
Constantine’s eldest son, Crispus, does his best to excuse him,
and when his son Constantine attended his deathbed in York on
25 July 306, the latter’s tendentious biographer, Eusebios of
Caesarea, does his best to suggest that his father’s court was a
Christian one.

after Constantine became ruler of the west after the Battle of the
Milvian Bridge in 312, he and the eastern emperor Galerius’s
successor, Licinius, met in Milan and agreed that all religions
should have freedom of worship. In what seems to have been a
state of some enthusiasm, following the ascription of his victory
to the Christian God, Constantine actively intervened in church
affairs in North Africa, and the so-called Edict of Milan in 313
became the turning point for the ending of the persecution of
Christians. From then on, although Constantine did not defeat
Licinius until 324 and the latter’s alleged ill treatment of
Christians in his territory featured as a theme in Constantine’s
propaganda campaign against him, Christians enjoyed a legally
accepted status, ownership and restoration of property, freedom
of worship, and imperial protection.
Constantine was not baptized until he was near his death,
and then by Eusebios of Nikomedeia, a bishop whose doctrinal
views were opposed to the conclusions of the Council of Nicaea
in 325 (see below). Constantine’s own religious views will always
remain controversial. Yet he certainly gave privileges to bishops;
built great churches in Rome, Antioch, the Holy Land, and his
new foundation of Constantinople (dedicated in 330); and he
worked hard to settle Christian doctrinal disputes. Although
many of his actions, and his legislation, conformed to Roman
tradition, his reign changed the course of the history of
Christianity. His sons and his imperial successors were all
themselves Christian henceforth, the only exception being Julian
the Apostate (361–63); they followed the precedents he had set,

Constantine was immediately proclaimed Augustus by his
father’s troops, but he prudently waited to take the title until he
had journeyed to the court of the senior emperor Maximian in
Trier and had it formally bestowed upon him. Lactantius claims
that when Constantine became Augustus, his first act was to end
the persecution of Christians, but it continued elsewhere until
the then eastern emperor Galerius formally called it off in 311.
Persecution began again in the east in the following year, but

32

even though they did not all take the same doctrinal positions.
Constantine was remembered as the first Christian emperor
both by individuals and by the church (cat. nos. 15, 16), and an
understanding of his role was enshrined in the Christian political
theory developed by Eusebios of Caesarea, according to which
the emperor was the vice-regent of God and the Christian empire
was the microcosm of the heavenly one. This theory of Christian
rule was to become and remain fundamental throughout Late
Antiquity and the Byzantine period.
The coinage was one of the more conservative expressions
of imperial ideology (cat. nos. 18, 19). Constantine himself placed
on his later coins an image of his new standard, the labarum,
topped with the chi-rho sign, representing the first two letters of
the name of Christ (fig. 2), and Eusebios claims that he issued

the rise of christianity: from recognition to authority

coins at the end of his life that show him gazing up to heaven in
religious fervor. But the full Christianization of religious imagery
was very slow, and although crosses appeared together with
victories on 5th-century coins, crosses were not featured alone
on coins until the late 6th century, in the reign of Tiberios II
(578â&#x20AC;&#x201C;82) (cat. no. 27). In fact, this very slow development tells us
little about the actual progress of Christianization in the empire
or even at court. The Christianization of ceremonies for the
accession and crowning of emperors was also surprisingly slow
to develop, with the coronation of emperors still taking place in
the 6th century in the Hippodrome at Constantinople rather
than in a church. But, by contrast, Justinian and Theodora were
depicted in the famous mosaic in the church of San Vitale,
Ravenna, with their attendants in the procession of gifts at the
Eucharist (fig. 3 and Elsner, fig. 3).

A far better guide to the Christianization of the empire can
be found in the number of churches that were constructed at that
time. Imperial patronage in the building of major churches began
with Constantine, who started building churches in and around
Rome after the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, and it continued
under most of his successors. His church building and that of his
mother, Helena, in and around Jerusalem, provided an enormous
impetus to Christian pilgrimage from all over the empire and led
to the development of Palestine as the Christian Holy Land and
to its conspicuous prosperity. In the 6th century, the emperor
Justinian built not only the present church of Hagia Sophia in
Constantinople but also innumerable churches in the rest of the
empire, including the reconquered province of North Africa.
Imperial builders also founded hospices and hospitals, and their
churches were provided with endowments for their clergy and

Fig. 3. M
osaic depicting the empress Theodora and her retinue, 547.
From the presbytery of the church of San Vitale in Ravenna
(Photo ÂŠ Cameraphoto Arte, Venice / Art Resource, NY).

averil cameron

33

their proper upkeep; state funds had also been deployed even
under Constantine to allow bishops to travel to church councils,
and provincial governors had been ordered to provide what was
needed for the building programs. These developments both
transformed the physical presence of Christianity in the empire
and demonstrated for all to see that it was supported by imperial
policy and resources.
Bishops were key to the new system. An ecclesiastical
organization developed that, with its provinces and dioceses,
mirrored that of the imperial administration. Church councils
regulated the seniority of sees and many matters of ecclesiastical
discipline as well as doctrine. Again Constantine had led the way
by adopting a tone of deference toward bishops, together with
the responsibility for the outcome of church councils. Bishops in
major sees also came to have the responsibility for handling
substantial amounts of wealth, as churches increasingly attracted
the legacies and donations that Constantine had made legal.
They too were great builders of churches, as we see from the
6th-century inscription of Bishop Epiphanios (cat. no. 30).
We know of many powerful bishops during this period.
Their influence extended well beyond what in modern terms
would be purely church matters: Constantine had set a precedent
in giving them secular jurisdiction and guaranteeing the
maintenance of bishops and clergy, as well as releasing them
from tax obligations. This was an exciting development at the
time for bishops like Eusebios of Caesarea, but it soon put them
in a complex position vis-à-vis the emperor, in that only the
orthodox (that is, those officially approved at any one time)
benefited. In many individual areas they took on a leadership
role that increased in scope in proportion to the difficulties
experienced in keeping up the civil administration. Ambrose,
bishop of Milan in the late 4th century, was an ambitious
churchman keen to consolidate his own position, and at times he
was able to exercise great influence over the emperor Theodosios I.
Another “political” bishop was John Chrysostom, a prolific writer
and Christian moralist who became bishop of Constantinople
in 398. This role could be precarious: John’s predecessor, Gregory
of Nazianzos, chose to retire under pressure of complaints about
his election, and John himself incurred the enmity of the empress
Eudoxia and was forced into exile in 403.
A very different figure was Theodoret, bishop of Cyrrhus in
northern Syria, in the mid-5th century, another voluminous
writer, theologian, and controversialist who also led a busy life
dealing with the practical problems of his see. Theodoret wrote
in Greek, but his see included a majority of Syriac speakers and
some exotic male and female ascetics, whom we know from his
Historia Religiosa. Theodoret’s theology was condemned by the
second Council of Ephesus in 449 and by the Council of
Constantinople in 553, and he became a highly controversial
figure from the 430s on, being banned by the emperor from
travel beyond his own see in 448 for disturbing the peace.
Energetic though Theodoret was in fighting for his doctrinal
beliefs, his many surviving letters demonstrate the care and
attention that he also gave to pastoral matters.

34

One of the most important bishops, however, was
St. Augustine, bishop of the small town of Hippo in North Africa
(modern Algeria) from 395 to 430. Augustine had had a successful
career as a teacher of Latin rhetoric in Carthage and Rome, but
he himself tells us in his Confessions about his dramatic
conversion in Milan under the influence of Ambrose. He returned
to North Africa and spent the rest of his life there, preaching and
living under a quasi-monastic rule and writing some of the most
influential works in the whole of Christian theology, including
the City of God. He also conducted a voluminous correspondence
with leading lay and clerical figures across the Mediterranean.
Christian bishops were highly aware of the importance of
communication, and Augustine wrote treatises about the best
techniques for reaching every individual in the congregation,
from the educated to the ignorant. Through his letters, Augustine
was in communication not only with such figures as St. Ambrose
and St. Jerome but also with Christian aristocrats in Rome,
some of whom fled to his side when Rome was sacked in 410;
new letters and sermons by Augustine have been discovered in
recent years and vividly demonstrate many of the pastoral and
theological concerns with which he grappled.
The emperor Constantine set a further precedent in calling
bishops to meet at church councils and settle matters on which
the church was divided. The most important of these were those
summoned by the emperor and recognized later as ecumenical,
of which the first was the Council of Nicaea in 325. It was
followed by the first Council of Constantinople in 381, the first
Council of Ephesus in 431, and the Council of Chalcedon in 451,
which proclaimed the doctrine that Christ had both human and
divine natures and formed the basis of orthodox Christian
doctrine in both east and west thereafter. However, there were
many in the east who could not accept Chalcedon, and in the 6th
century the emperor Justinian, a theologian himself, called a
second Council of Constantinople in 553 in the effort to resolve
the disagreements. Its proceedings proved highly controversial
in both east and west, and it did not prevent anti-Chalcedonians
in the east from ordaining their own clergy and eventually
forming a separate Miaphysite (“one-nature”) church, known as
the Jacobite or Syrian Orthodox. The Church of the East, often
wrongly known as “Nestorian,” also developed as a separate
church, particularly in East Syria and Sasanian Persia, from
where it spread as far east as China. Whereas the Miaphysites
emphasized the divine nature of Christ, the Church of the East
laid stress on the human.
Two other ecumenical councils were held in the 7th and 8th
centuries: the sixth, held in Constantinople in 680–81, condemned
the doctrine of Monotheletism, introduced under the emperor
Herakleios in 638, and the seventh, held at Nicaea in 787,
restored the veneration of religious images in the context of the
iconoclastic controversy, although the formal end of iconoclasm
came only in 843. Council proceedings were issued as formal
Acts, and most councils also issued canons, rulings on church
order and morality. The ecumenical councils (all held in the
eastern part of the empire) were summoned by the emperor, and

the rise of christianity: from recognition to authority

there was considerable state involvement in the arrangements
and in influencing the likely outcomes. Nevertheless, emperors
did not themselves take part in the main proceedings and
followed Constantine’s precedent, according to which the
decisions were to be wholly in the hands of the bishops
themselves. But emperors did not hesitate to engage in theological
disputes, and achieving ecclesiastical harmony was one of the
chief aims and duties of all Christian emperors.
Rome was recognized as the first in prestige of the five great
sees of Rome, Antioch, Alexandria, Constantinople, and Jerusalem,
and the Council of Constantinople in 381 declared the see of
Constantinople—“New Rome,” the eastern capital—as second
in the hierarchy. Not surprisingly, relations between Rome and
Constantinople were sometimes difficult, as during the “Acacian
schism,” from 484 to 519, which began when Acacius, patriarch
of Constantinople, was excommunicated by Pope Felix III for
seeming to lean too far in the Miaphysite direction. In 449 Pope
Leo I had issued a “Tome,” actually a letter to the then patriarch
of Constantinople, which also asserted Roman opposition to the
eastern tendency toward Miaphysitism, and was highly
influential in the antecedents to the Council of Chalcedon.
Among easterners, the patriarch Cyril of Alexandria (412–44),
whose theology prevailed at the Council of Ephesus in 431, was
a highly controversial figure, and he was succeeded by the even
more controversial Dioskoros, who was in fact condemned by
the Council of Chalcedon. The path toward the establishment of
agreed doctrine was not smooth, and in the 6th century the
emperor Justinian’s attempts to deal with Christian divisions
caused hostility among both the Roman church and the church
in North Africa, which had traditionally close links with Rome.
Although there was no official split between the western and
eastern churches for several centuries, and indeed, a series of
easterners became pope in the 7th century, the increasing
political division between east and west was already accompanied
by religious differences.
Heresy—not merely wrong belief but also wrong practice—
was defined by the decisions of church councils, which also
condemned individual bishops; imperial sanctions followed,
leading to deposition and exile. Many lesser synods and councils
also condemned views held to be heretical and the individuals
who held them. Among those who were deposed or exiled in this
way were some great churchmen, such as Athanasios, bishop of
Alexandria, first exiled under Constantine and then again more
than once under Constantius II; though himself a pugnacious
controversialist, Athanasios is universally regarded as one of the
Fathers of Nicene orthodoxy.
Emperors also legislated on religious matters, not only
against paganism but also against heresy. In the late 4th century,
a series of laws were brought in that lay down increasingly
severe penalties and exclusions, not only on pagans and Jews but
also on heretics. Penalties against Manicheans, “Eunomians,”
“Phrygians,” “Priscillianists,” and “Donatists” were set out in
imperial constitutions starting under Theodosios I in 381, and
similar civil disabilities were also applied to “apostates” from

Christianity, whether to paganism or Judaism. The two great
law codes compiled under Theodosios II in 438 and Justinian in
534 incorporated legislation of this kind, and Justinian himself
continued to legislate against pagans and issued laws against
dissidents, including heretics, Manichaeans, and homosexuals,
particularly those who were teachers. At the same time, heresy
was attacked in countless theological works, and bishops saw it
as their duty to combat wrong belief and do all that they could
to promote their own conception of orthodoxy. A huge literature
developed with the aim of disproving heterodoxy, demonstrating
the truths of Christianity over paganism and Judaism and
expounding the Scriptures correctly. It was underpinned by
countless sermons and homilies delivered week by week and
subsequently collected and written down. This mass of writing
by the “Fathers of the Church” became a fundamental source of
inspiration and authority for later generations. One of the last
theologians in this tradition was St. John of Damascus (d. ca. 750),
one of whose greatest works was the Pege Gnoseos, or Fount
of Knowledge, in which he aimed both to expound the sum of
Christian doctrine and to expose heresy; added to it was a
“chapter” on the new “heresy” of Islam.
Gentile Christians had endeavored to separate themselves
from their Jewish background from an early date, but a complete
“parting of the ways” was late in coming. In the late 4th century,
John Chrysostom warned his flock against consorting with Jews
and adopting Jewish practices, and Jews and Judaism were a
frequent target in Christian polemical writing, especially after
Jerusalem and the Holy Land were claimed under the Christian
emperors as the major destination for Christian pilgrimage.
Judaism was viewed with disapproval in Christian legislation
but grudgingly tolerated as the religion of the Old Testament.
However, imperial attitudes hardened from the 6th century on,
and 7th- and 8th-century emperors introduced laws—albeit
perhaps more symbolic than realistic—requiring all Jews to
convert to Christianity. Again a substantial body of literature
had grown up, beginning as early as the 2nd century and gaining
momentum thereafter, in which Christian authors sought to
demonstrate the falsity of Jewish objections to their faith, and
this type of work (known as the Adversus Judaeos literature)
continued to be written after the rise of Islam and into the
Byzantine period.
Imperial support and legislation, the rise of episcopal
authority and organization, and the concerted efforts of leading
churchmen to identify and condemn heresy and inculcate
orthodox doctrine were by no means the whole story. The same
period saw the rise of monasticism, which could take many
forms, from individual retreat to large (sometimes very large)
communal organizations. At times this gave rise to tension and
even conflict with the episcopal structures, even though bishops
themselves were often monastics. Sometimes groups of monks,
such as the followers of Cyril of Alexandria, engaged in rowdy
or even violent activities in the context of religious disputes in
Late Antique cities. Eastern monasteries were more varied in
their types and their monastic rules than those in the west, and

averil cameron

35

some, including the large monastery of St. Sabas near Jerusalem
in the 6th century, became centers of theological activism and
resistance to imperial religious policy.
Another development which might threaten the authority
of bishops was the rise of individual ascetics who attracted their
own following, among them stylite saints such as Symeon the
Elder in the 5th century, who practiced holiness by living for
years on end on top of pillars. Such ascetics attracted many
visitors, who included important people and even emperors, and
some gained a degree of fame and prestige that could run counter
to the authority of the institutional church. Authority was not
limited to the officially recognized power structures; individual
charisma and holiness also exercised a strong attraction, and an
important role was played in Late Antique Christianity by those
who were perceived as having such qualities. Nor was it just a
matter of holy persons themselves: the relics of recognized saints
were perceived to bestow immense authority, and the advantages
this conveyed were recognized by many bishops, including
Ambrose and Paulinus of Nola. The emperor Constantius II
considered it important to deposit relics of Andrew, Luke, and
Timothy in the new Church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople.
The burial places of martyrs had long attracted Christians to
visit them and worship there, and by the 5th and 6th centuries
there were countless other holy sites, whether the burial places
of saints or shrines associated with miraculous healing, the
Christian equivalents of the great oracular shrines of the ancient
world. The great shrine and pilgrimage complex associated with
St. Thekla at Seleukeia (Meriemlik) in Isauria, southern Turkey,
could accommodate huge numbers of pilgrims and received
imperial patronage on a large scale in the 5th century. It
symbolized the rise of Christianity in the Late Antique world as
big business.
Imperial authority and patronage were crucial to the
establishment of Christianity as the major religion of the Roman
Empire, whether through the building of churches or the
attempted resolution of theological disputes. The only emperor
after Constantine who was not Christian was the eccentric Julian
the “apostate” (361–63), who had been brought up a Christian
but who, on attaining power, adopted an enthusiastic kind of
Neoplatonism, which he hoped would replace Christianity.
However, Julian’s reign was short-lived; he was succeeded by a
Christian, and all the emperors who followed, without exception,
saw it as their duty to promote the spread of Christianity both
within the empire and among the empire’s neighbors. Some
things were slow to change. Pagan emperors had been recognized
as divine, and Constantine too was known as divus, whereas
Christian emperors in the 4th century also retained the title of
pontifex maximus (chief priest). The Christian emperors did not
aspire to the position of head of the church, but they exercised a
powerful influence over its development and occupied a unique
role as the representatives of God and the protectors of
Christianity within the empire.

36

By the 6th century, Christianity was firmly embedded as the
main religion in the Roman Empire, even if its exact form
continued to be a matter for dispute and rivalry. Despite the
legislation that forbade the old cults, and despite occasional
efforts to find and punish their adherents, some continued to
resist Christianization, especially in rural areas and among
intellectual and philosophical circles. But the official structures
supporting Christianity were now strong. Combined with the
“soft power” exercised at the same time by personal influence,
peer pressure, and a culture in which many forms of Christianity
flourished, this meant that the majority of inhabitants of the
empire recognized themselves as Christian, and that Christianity
represented the prevailing religious environment.

urban setting
Helen Saradi-Mendelovici
The late Roman Empire was a world of cities. In his Oration To
Rome, Aelios Aristides praised Rome for having filled the world
with cities and for enabling Greek cities to flourish in the arts
and other achievements. Never before had cities been praised
with such passion in rhetoric or literature. They were the
foundation of civilization, as the Greek and Latin words for the
city (polis and civitas) are the root words for describing civilized
life (politismos, civility, civilization). They were centers of arts
and letters; they were aesthetically appealing, adorned with
magnificent public buildings, temples, and impressive colonnaded
streets. The goddess Tyche offered prosperity and promised
perpetual peace and growth to each city; a tribute to Tyche in
Thessaloniki appears in the sculptural decoration of an arch
in Galerius’s palace (fig. 1).

Imperial power left its imprint on Greece in the city of
Thessaloniki, when Galerius, one of the tetrarchs, chose the city
as his residence (298/299–303, 308–11). His ceremonial entry
into a city (adventus) is depicted in a scene from the upper tier of
the southwestern pillar of his triumphal arch. There is no other
place that imparts a sense of the original effect of imperial
architecture in Greece as authentically as the complex of
Galerius’s palace. Because monumentality was a Roman feature,
the palatial complex, articulated in several buildings that served
various interrelated functions, gave Thessaloniki an imperial
identity and architectural character. Connected to the harbor
and next to the “theater-stadium,” the complex of 180 acres
contained the palace, the hippodrome, the triumphal arch, the
rotunda, baths, and a monumental basilica. It prefigured the
important role of the city in the Middle Ages as both a stronghold
of the Byzantine Empire against enemies from the north and a
major commercial center.

Fig. 2. The Tetraconch in Athens, 5th century
(Photo courtesy of Helen Saradi-Mendelovici).

If Rome was the political center of the Roman Empire,
Athens was recognized as the cultural center of the Roman
world. Its philosophical schools gave the city an unsurpassed
reputation. Renowned citizens studied there, such as the emperor
Julian (361–63), who lamented upon leaving the city, as did
Sts. Basil and Gregory of Nazianzos. Paganism, nourished by the
philosophers, remained strong in Athens for a long time. When
the Christian religion was firmly established, Athens was the
only city to retain the pagan name of a goddess because of its
reputation as the major center of classical culture and education,
even after the closing of the Platonic Academy by the emperor
Justinian (527–65) in 529.

Administrative changes in the 4th century affected urban
life, as the empire’s administration became increasingly bureau­
cratic and centralized. The cities, responsible for local
administration and for collecting taxes, became subject to more
financial restrictions. They were losing revenues to the provincial
governors and state fiscal policy, which made it difficult to
maintain public spectacles, public baths, and administrative
buildings. Consequently, the urban landscape gradually changed
from the 4th to the 6th century. Public buildings were not
restored or were assigned new uses; the old urban administrative
centers and the agora lost their functions and were abandoned.
Christian churches now marked the urban space. Building and

helen saradi-mendelovici

37

restoration activities in the cities were becoming a responsibility
of provincial governors, who took care primarily of the
provincial capitals. At the turn of the 6th century, the pagan
historian Zosimos attributed the decline of urban monumentality
to the Christianization of the empire and to subsequent
ideological changes, while later in the same century Prokopios
blamed the financial measures imposed by Justinian, who
deprived the cities of their remaining revenues.
The foundation of Constantinople in 324 as the capital of
the Roman Empire in the east affected the reputation and
prestige of the Greek cities. In the same century, Himerios, in his
Oratio 41, emphatically stated that during his time Constantinople
had surpassed the famous cities of Greece: Athens, Sparta,
Argos, and Amphipolis. Constantinople, as the center of political
power of the empire in the east, attracted aristocrats, wealth,
and intellectuals. Cities also suffered from spoliation by
provincial governors who removed objects of art to decorate
their capitals. The famous paintings of the Poikele Stoa in
Athens, for example, were removed by a governor.
Although urban architecture was the vehicle of imperial
ideology and civic pride, it was the citizens who gave meaning
and function to urban buildings and topography: the upper
class, with their classical education and attachment to the civic
tradition and pagan religion; the prosperous middle class of
traders, artisans, and landowners; and the large lower class,
which was becoming more visible in Christian literature. In Late
Antiquity, there was an unprecedented increase in population
and in urban and rural settlements everywhere in the empire.
This was reflected in the dynamic spread of artisans and
merchants in organized urban markets and, increasingly, in
vacant urban lots and abandoned buildings, plazas, and
sidewalks. But it was the upper class that gave urban space its
dazzling architectural appearance and material prosperity, and
to urban life competitive grandeur, intellectual ambience, and a
festive rhythm. Members of the local elite were the municipal
officials, who decided most local issues, organized public
entertainments and festivals, and gave the cities their cultural
tone. The Roman prototype of an upper-class man is best
depicted in the “Brother Sarcophagus” in Naples (mid-3rd
century), where he is represented in scenes of his private and
public life as a Greek philosopher and as a public figure. In the
4th century in Greece, intellectuals were involved in the imperial
administration. Hermogenes, who devoted himself to philosophy,
was appointed Proconsul of Achaia (ca. 353–58) and restored
the harbor of Corinth. Vettius Agorius Praetextatus, Proconsul
of Achaia (362–64) and personal friend of the emperor Julian,
was a highly educated man and held numerous pagan priesthoods
in Greece, especially in mystery cults. The Corinthian sophist
Aristophanes was from a family of philosophers. He received an
imperial position in Greece, served as ambassador to Egypt (357),
and retired to Corinth after Julian’s death.
Aristocrats expressed their cultural identity and political
status on luxury items, such as ivory plaques and diptychs, fine
clothes, and jewels. Tertullian in De pallio discusses the cultural
and social distinctions conveyed by clothing, the Roman toga

38

urban setting

versus the Greek pallium. Ammianus Marcellinus describes the
fine clothes of Roman senators, the formality of the draping, the
embroidery with gold, their jewels, and how they were exhibited
during public appearances. In a world where appearance conveyed
prestige and power, belts and brooches became prominent
insignia of high civil and military status. Brooches, originally
used to fasten the soldiers’ cloaks at the shoulder, became part of
the formal dress of civilian administrators. Constantine (324–37)
was the first to appear on coins with a special brooch and a
jeweled diadem. Then the emperor Leo (457–74) made the
adornment of brooches with precious stones an imperial
privilege. Thus, in the famous mosaic at Ravenna, the emperor
Justinian is depicted with his jeweled brooch, while the
subordinate officers wear the gold bow-brooch (see Elsner, fig. 3).
Local aristocrats, provincial governors, and imperial
bureaucrats defined their cultural identity and promoted their
social status with works of euergetism. The bema (platform) of
the theater of Dionysos in Athens was restored by the archon
Phaedros, who boldly declared his love “for passionate rites.”
Lofty dignitaries and benefactors were glorified with the erection
of statues in the cities until around the middle of the 5th century,
when the production of statues declined, either because of the
Church’s hostility toward pictorial representation or because of
a changing trend. From the middle of the 4th century, the erec­
tion of bronze statues of magistrates in the cities required imperial
permission, and it was considered an imperiale beneficium.
Sophists in Athens who were closely connected to high-ranking
administrators often promoted their public image by erecting
honorific statues. The sophist Apronianos erected a statue in
honor of Herculius, prefect of Illyricum (408–10), beside the
statue of Pallas Promachos. Herculius repaired the Library of
Hadrian, which had been damaged by the Heruli, a Germanic
tribe. It has been suggested that the prefect gave the library to the
Neoplatonist philosophers and the open court to the Christians,
where the tetraconch church (fig. 2) was built in the middle of the
peristyle court at the site of an ornamental pool. The establishment
of the first Christian church inside a walled city in the very heart
of the pagan Athenian center reveals how the boundaries
between the two religions were redrawn by the urban elite.
From the late 4th century, the restrictions imposed on pagan
cult by Theodosios I (379–95) and the fervor of the newly
converted brought about rapid advancement of the Christian
faith. Christian belief was not incompatible with traditional
cultural values, and civic traditions were incorporated into the
new Christian society. The archon, patricius, and senator
Theagenes, a renowned member of the imperial elite in the 5th
century, was from Athens and claimed to be a descendant of
Miltiades and Plato. At Messene in the 5th century, local
aristocrats claimed mythical ancestors such as Herakles and the
Dioskouroi, and two blocks with inscriptions to the city’s ancient
heroes were incorporated into the apse in its Christian basilica in
order to give it strength. The Parthenon was converted into a
Christian church in the last quarter of the 5th century but
maintained its pagan sculptural decoration. Prophecies of the
pagan gods were fabricated to justify its conversion and that of

a church on the island of Ikaria. But Christianization in Greece
was not without confrontation with pagans. A bishop declared
his victory over paganism by destroying temples, as recorded
in an inscription on the front of the church of Palaiopolis in
Kerkyra (fig. 3).
The religious and social composition of urban society was
gradually changing. Many members of the upper class chose a
career in the church that would give them prestige and power.
Porphyrios, later bishop of Gaza (395–420), was raised in
Thessaloniki by wealthy parents. He decided to dedicate himself
to an ascetic life, and he disposed of his fortune and withdrew to
the desert, first in Egypt and later in Jordan and Jerusalem,
where he became keeper of the True Cross. He is notorious for
the destruction of the temple of Zeus Marnas in Gaza (402).
In the private sphere, aristocratic houses offer us glimpses
of the upper class’s luxurious lifestyle. Aristocrats advertised their
power in the formal dining hall (triclinium), which preserved its

classical decoration. Wealthy houses excavated in Athens show
the adherence of these aristocrats to classical culture and pagan
religion. The House of the Falconer in Argos had the mosaic
floor of the triclinium decorated with a classical repertoire,
Dionysos with satyrs and maenads, and the porticoes of the
courtyard with scenes of hunting, an aristocratic pastime, and
personifications of the months. As urban monuments were no
longer maintained from the middle of the 6th century, so large
aristocratic houses of the Roman domus type were abandoned
or subdivided by lower-class residents. Continuity in domestic
architecture was broken, and a new, medieval type of aristocratic
house emerged during the centuries that followed. Architectural
change suggests a profound social change. Indeed, from the 7th
century on, Late Antique aristocratic families were no longer
attested in the texts, and a new aristocracy of a different social
and ethnic origin emerged.
Public spectacles in the theaters and the hippodromes—a
popular form of entertainment in the Roman Empire sponsored
by wealthy citizens, emperors, or governors—had changed as well.
From the early 3rd century, only excerpts of tragedies and
comedies were performed in theaters, and more popular spectacles
consisted of mimes and pantomimes, which in Late Antiquity
were associated with circus groups and were also performed in
the hippodrome. Strong ideological pressure from the church on
religious and moral grounds and the diminished financial
resources of the cities brought about the decline of theaters. After
the 6th century, in fact, theaters ceased to function altogether.
Gladiatorial and animal combats and public executions took
place in amphitheaters. In the “theater-stadium” of Thessaloniki
during Galerius’s rule (306), the competition between Nestor
and Lysaios and the martyrdom of Saint Demetrios occurred.
Such executions were outlawed by Constantine in 325 and
attacked by the Christians as being cruel. They ceased after the
early 5th century.
Horse races in the hippodromes of major cities were a
Roman tradition. In the imperial capitals the hippodrome was
connected with the palace, and the emperors appeared there

Fig. 4. Section of the post-Herulian wall
in Athens constructed from spolia,
3rd century (Photo courtesy of
Helen Saradi-Mendelovici).

before the people. In Late Antiquity, the program of the spectacles
in the hippodrome was mixed: they included horse races, mimes
and pantomimes, dances, music, acrobatic shows, and animal
parades. Horse races aroused strong public passion and often
caused violent clashes among the partisans of various charioteers.
In 390 in the hippodrome of Thessaloniki, people revolted and
killed the leader of the Gothic guard who refused to allow a
popular charioteer to compete in the horse races. The revolt
ended with the slaughter of 7,000 citizens in the hippodrome by
the order of Theodosios I. By the end of the 6th century, only the
hippodrome of Constantinople continued to function and this
only as an appendix to the palace. The Olympic Games
associated with pagan religion and traditions were held until 385
and ended officially in 392 in the context of the general ban of
paganism by Theodosios I.
In Late Antiquity, Greece suffered successive waves of
destruction by various enemies. In 267 the Heruli invaded Greece
and sacked Athens. In response to this attack, the propylaia of
the temple of Eleusis was transformed into a defensive wall, and
a new wall was built with materials looted (spolia) from ruined
buildings in Athens to protect the central part of the city (fig. 4).
In the 4th century, the Visigoths invaded the Roman Empire,
and after the battle of Adrianople (378) they settled as foederati
in Thrace. In 395, under Alaric, they pillaged Thrace and
Illyricum and continued as far as Athens and the cities of the
Peloponnese. In the 5th century, the Ostrogoths ravaged areas of
Illyricum.
The emperors’ response to the waves of invaders was to
strengthen the interior of the empire by fortifying the cities with
new, shorter walls to protect smaller urban areas, constructing
forts on hilltops and strategic positions, defending larger

40

urban setting

territories with long walls, and sometimes relocating cities to
naturally protected areas. Anastasios (491–518) and Justinian
built major fortifications all over the empire. But from the
middle of the 6th century, the invasions of the Avars and Slavs
in the Balkans had long-lasting effects: many cities and towns
were destroyed, some were abandoned forever, and some were
relocated to mountain peaks, islands, and naturally fortified
sites. The social structure and urban planning of the early
Byzantine cities was collapsing. The new terminology eloquently
suggests the change: the city (polis) became a fortress (kastron).
The new poleis-kastra had a prominent military character, in
which the primary position was given to the churches, developed
in significantly reduced financial resources and survived in
dramatically difficult military circumstances. The kastron of
Rentina in Macedonia (fig. 5) was built by Justinian to protect
the settlement on a hilltop and to control the passage from east
Macedonia to the gulf of Thessaloniki. The city of Diokletian­
oupolis was relocated to a promontory of the lake of Kastoria.
Hoards buried in a rush by individuals in the expectation that
they would return after the barbarians withdrew illustrate the
conditions in which Byzantine cities struggled. Only Thessaloniki
remained a major political, military, and economic center, but
with a new administrative and social structure.

the transition from
paganism to christianity:
the numismatic evidence
Ioannis P. Touratsoglou
As Christianity spread to a wider circle of the populace and
gradually to the ruling classes as well, the modus vivendi of
thinking Roman citizens was marked by a noteworthy
introversion, even though there seems to have been—at least in
the large urban centers—quite a lengthy process of adjustment
to the new circumstances as long as the old and new models of
paganism and monotheism co-existed. Despite the rapid
unfolding of political events and the gradual but steady,
top-down imposition of the new religion, the iconography
stipulated in the sacred canons enacted by the ecumenical
councils of the 4th and 5th centuries was put into practice only
selectively and in what was initially a relatively limited number
of artifacts.
On coinage, in particular, changes took place gradually, but
from the moment they began to be implemented, they took over the
areas that affected the very identity of coins: the iconography,
the accompanying inscriptions, and the Christian symbols.
Weights and measures were undoubtedly affected by the
innovations (one of the first steps taken in the emergent Byzantine
world was to inscribe the face value on coins), as were the
nomenclature and the reformed system of minting money.
As to the iconography of coins, something that had always
been characterized by conservatism, attesting as it did to the
financial solvency of the issuing authority, there was a distinctive
delay in the adoption of Christian subjects, and iconography
was not adapted in the same systematic way to the demands of
the times as in other forms of art. This was most probably
because, as has been observed: “there was at the time no official
Christian iconography to draw on.” And it is very likely to have
been due to what was in some ways a justifiable hesitancy on
this particular subject, given that the coinage served other
practical purposes, both on a day-to-day level within the state
and at the foreign-policy level abroad. Now the message the
Byzantine coin was sending was twofold—on the one hand
imperial (i.e., global) and on the other hand Christian (i.e.,
metaphysical). This is why the iconography of the coins was
characterized by an increasingly expressionistic style, which
achieved a certain abstraction or at least succeeded in minimizing
the realistic elements.
The depicted ruler’s bust, or, more rarely, the head, is shown
in profile in the early period, in accordance with the norms and
tradition of the Greco-Roman world, conveying the individual
features of the subject. This technique, used on all metals, would
be continued in the small denominations (semissis, tremissis)
right up to the 7th century, being evidently the most direct way
of informing the public about the identity and physical
appearance of their leader. By contrast, busts on the largedenomination coins made of precious metals (i.e., solidi) are
depicted frontally or in three-quarter profile, which means that,

except in a few cases where care was taken to depict the individual
facial features of a specific ruler (e.g., Herakleios, from 610 on;
Constans II, from 663 on; and Leontios from 695 to 698), an
impression was created of an overall homogenization in the
likenesses of the various emperors. It is a resemblance that
recalls the sacred, divine, unchanging nature of God’s
representative on earth. This also accounts for the Byzantine
emperor being shown in some cases with a halo.
As part of the ongoing changes in the understanding of the
nature of the iconography associated with coinage, the
conversion of the figure of the Nike or Victory into an angel
carrying a cruciform staff (very probably the Archangel Michael)
from as early as the time of Justinian I adds yet another symbol
to the glory of Christian monotheism. The Victory remained in the
iconographic repertoire of coins until the 7th century at the latest.
To these new symbols would be added the cross, which, as
the ultimate triumphal sign, could be accompanied by angels
and saints but would also be glorified in a prominent position on
the reverse of the solidi of Tiberios II (578–82). In 720 under Leo
III this cruciform symbol of faith would be called upon to
decorate silver coinage, as well.
Regarding the language of the inscriptions on the mainly
circular borders surrounding the iconographical scenes, Latin
remained the principal form of expression of the imperial will
for a considerable period of time—despite the fact that a sizeable
proportion of recipients of the coins, owners and users, were

Greek-speaking or of Greek descent. Yet it was not until the
reign of Leo III (717–41) that the first Greek inscriptions appeared
on silver coins. Of course, this had been preceded by the copper
coins (folleis) of Constans II bearing the inscription ΕΝ ΤΟΥΤΟ
ΝΙΚΑ / ΑΝΑΝΕΟΣ (a’μενος or ις; In this conquer! / restored /
renewal). At the same time, Latin would continue to be
characteristic of the gold currency up to the reign of Michael I
(811–13). It should be noted here that the progressive Christian­
ization of the empire went hand in hand with its gradual
Hellenization, which can be seen in the administration and,
above all, in legal texts. Indeed, it is no coincidence that, as early
as the reign of Justinian I, a sizeable part of the legislation, the
Novels (new laws), were composed in Greek.
With respect to the way coinage was being caught up in the
spirit of the new monotheistic world then steadily gaining
ground, it should be noted that the first depiction of a Christian
symbol (signum) on the coinage was on a Constantinopolitan
issue from 327 bearing a depiction of the Christogram ( ),
apparently to commemorate the victory of Constantine over
Maxentius fifteen years earlier, in 312. This symbol also appeared
later on issues from the Antioch (336) and Arelate mints (332).
About 320 it was also depicted on issues from the mints at
Ticinum, Siscia, Aquileia, and Thessaloniki. According to one
view, the occasional or rare depiction of the Christogram
“illustrate[s] the choice only of some official or officials, and
result[s] from the new atmosphere of official Christianity and
the new presence of Christians in the imperial administration.”
However, the appropriation of the Christogram by Constantine
the Great himself, predating the examples quoted above, is
evidenced by its use as a decorative feature on his helmet on the
obverse of an imposing silver medallion from Rome, Ticinum,
or Aquileia (313 or 315) (fig. 1) and on a copper coin from Siscia
(320) (fig. 2), as recorded by Eusebios (Historia Ecclessiastica 3.2).
In the same period, the Christogram decorates the shield of
Crispus on the coins struck in his name (322) at the Trier mint.
A second Christian symbol appeared on the late Roman / early
Byzantine issues after the death of Constantine the Great in 337,
when that ruler, depicted after the tradition of his pagan
predecessors in the process of deification, ascending to heaven, was
received by the Almighty, in this case represented synecdochically
by the manus dei or Hand of God.
In any event, the importance of referring to Christian
symbols can be seen by the way they are used for essentially
political reasons by those aspiring to power. For this reason, in
order to legitimize their position in the leadership and to associate
themselves with Constantine I and his family, Magnentius (350–53)
issued a coin at the end of his reign with a huge Christogram
occupying the obverse in solitary splendor (fig. 3), and Vetranius
(350) struck a coin with an image of himself being crowned by a
Victory and holding a labarum with a Christogram. This image
is surrounded by the inscription “hoc signo victor eris” (in this
sign you will be the victor), which recalls another time and other
events (fig. 4).

The fundamental turning point in the history of the Roman
Empire, which distanced it from Roman traditions and age-old
beliefs, came in the reign of Theodosios I (379–95). The violent
break with paganism, which made redundant the message of
religious tolerance enshrined in the Edict of Milan (and the
earlier edicts of toleration), contributed to the all-out efforts to
promote Christianity as the official religion of the state. And so
it is understandable that the future of the Byzantine coinage
should belong to the Greek-speaking East and to Christianity:
the supremely orthodox environment.
Bibliography
Bruck 1955; Dodds 1965, 102ff.; Ahrweiler 1975; Age of Spirituality
1979; Noethlichs 1983; Hackens 1984; Burnett 1987; Ellis 1991;
Morrisson 1992; Alföldi 1998; Elsner 1998, 225–35; Grierson 1999;
Penna 2002, 48–63; Flusin 2004; Nikolaou 2004.
Please note that the coins reproduced in this essay appear larger
than their actual size.

the transition from paganism to christianity: the numismatic evidence

personal adornment: glory,
vainglory, and insecurity
Henry Maguire
Vanity and Display
The love of gold and precious stones has been a constant
throughout human history, but it must be true to say that the
expression of that desire reached an apogee during Late
Antiquity, as the ancient world was giving way to Byzantium.
This was a time when not only people but even the buildings
that they occupied were festooned with jewels, or with their
simulations. The famous mosaics of the 6th-century emperor
and empress Justinian and Theodora in the church of San Vitale
in Ravenna exemplify the conspicuous parading of precious
ornament. In addition to their jeweled crowns, both sovereigns
sport spectacular gems on their purple cloaks. The emperor’s
chlamys is fastened by a large brooch containing a massive red
circular stone set in gold, surrounded by a ring of pearls, and
hung with three tear-shaped pendants of mother of pearl (see
Elsner, fig. 3). The empress wears an ornate jeweled collar,
which is also hung with pearly pendants (see Cameron, fig. 3).
Nor is it only the rulers who are decked out in this way. The very
columns of the buildings that frame them are studded with
pearls and gems. These jeweled columns were not figments of
the artists’ imaginations, for actual columns of such a kind have
been discovered in the excavations of the early 6th-century
church of St. Polyeuktos in Constantinople. These marble
columns, which probably originally supported the ciborium, or
canopy, over the altar of the church, were richly inlaid with
pieces of amethyst, green glass, and gold glass. Looking beyond
the fictive architecture in the portraits of Justinian and Theodora,
one can see that throughout the mosaics of San Vitale, as in
other churches of this epoch, there are borders representing
green or blue jewels alternating with pearls against a red ground.
In incorporating jewels into their mosaics, the artists at San
Vitale practiced a kind of alchemy, in which actual precious
materials alternated with imitations. If we look closely at the
large tear-shaped drops that hang from the brooch fastening the
emperor’s cloak, we can see that they are made of single pieces
of mother-of-pearl. But in the case of the empress, the similar
pendants that hang from her collar turn out not to be single
pieces of shell but, on the contrary, are made up of smaller
tesserae of glass or stone. In this case, it was probably not a
shortage of the material—mother-of-pearl—that caused the
mosaicists to render Theodora’s pendants in tesserae rather than
with large pieces of shell. The artists had enough mother-ofpearl to distribute this material lavishly on the columns that
flank each of the imperial portraits. It seems that the choice to
use mosaic cubes for the collar of the empress was in part
aesthetic. This was a display of the depiction one material with
another—a tour de force in the artistic conquest of nature.
While the substitutions at San Vitale may have been motivated
by aesthetic considerations, in other cases the replacement of a rarer

material by a more common one was certainly owing to economic
circumstances. For example, during the 4th and 5th centuries, a
common type of marriage ring portrayed profile busts of the
husband and wife on the bezel, with a small cross above them. A
gold ring of this kind, now in the collection at Dumbarton Oaks,
is displayed in the exhibition (cat. no. 57). But rings with the
same design were also replicated in base metal for those couples
who could not afford gold. Likewise, a jeweled collar, such as
the one worn by Theodora, could be reproduced inexpensively
in the medium of tapestry weave of wool and linen. The neckline
of a 5th-century tunic from Egypt, now preserved in the Museum
of Fine Arts, Boston, depicts two different necklaces, one on
each side of the opening for the neck. One of the woven necklaces
is hung with pendants in the shape of teardrops, like the ones
hanging from the collar of the empress in San Vitale. The other
fictive necklace portrayed on the tunic has alternating square
and circular settings containing jewels, somewhat similar to the
design of the real necklace from the collection of the Museum of
Cycladic Art, which is now displayed in catalogue number 70.
Also in the exhibition is a gold pin, which is topped by a small
bird carved out of rock crystal (cat. no. 68). Such bird-headed
pins were produced in great quantities in cheaper materials, such
as wood, bone, and bronze. Frequently, the bird was fashioned
as a rooster with a prominent comb, perhaps a reference to the
use of such pins in adorning the hair.
Church fathers, such as St. John Chrysostom, were quick to
condemn those who adorned themselves with jewelry and who
gave themselves elaborate coiffures. In this they followed the
precepts of St. Paul: “I desire that . . . women should adorn
themselves modestly and sensibly in seemly apparel, not with
braided hair or gold or pearls or costly attire, but by good deeds,
as befits women who profess religion” (I Timothy 2:8–10). The
vanity that was condemned by the church may perhaps be
exemplified in the many silver mirrors that have survived from
Late Antiquity, including the one on show in the exhibition
(cat. no. 75). But there was another view of the display of
jewelry, which is found in the panegyrics composed by state
orators. A wonderful passage in Claudian’s panegyric on the
fourth consulate of Honorius, held in 398, praises the consular
robe of the boy emperor. The orator describes how “all the
youth of Rome and Latium attend your ceremonies,” and how
the young men carry the boy emperor on their necks in a golden
chair. The description begins with a catalogue of the jewels and
metals with which the emperor’s robe is adorned and then
marvels at how the weaver’s art creates from these intractable
elements a textile that is soft and yielding:
Indian stones bead the robe and the costly fine-spun stuff
is green with emeralds; amethysts are worked in and the
brightness of Spanish gold tempers the blue of the hyacinth
with its hidden fires. Nor was the simple beauty of such
a web considered enough; embroidery enhances its worth
and the work is vivid with pictures traced in metal threads;
portraits throng together in a wealth of jasper and the
sea-pearl comes to life in many a pattern. What ambitious

henry maguire

43

distaff was able with the fingers’ art to give softness to
materials so hard?
Panegyricus de quarto consulatu Honorii Augusti
ll. 577–94; translation by Barr, 1981
Here the display of a wealth of gems in a public setting is a
subject of praise; the jewels of his official costume project the
virtue and power of the ruler.

Pagan Motifs
A major part of the attraction of gold and gems in the world of
Late Antiquity was psychological. Beyond their aesthetic value,
these incorruptible materials embodied the idea of permanence
in an unstable world and a refuge from the insecurity that
affected all levels of society. In addition, certain gemstones
were reputed to have therapeutic qualities, such as green
jasper, which, as the Roman physician Galen confirmed through
empirical experiment, benefited the esophagus (De simplicium
medicamentorum temperamentis II, 19). The quest for health
and safety in the midst of danger and instability is also reflected

in the motifs and devices that people incorporated into their
jewelry. Although these devices took different forms and had
different frames of reference, whether pagan, Christian, or
magical, to a large extent they were united in their function,
which was to protect the wearer from harm and to ensure his or
her health and prosperity. In the following discussion, we will
look separately at the motifs that belonged to the pagan, the
Christian, and the magical realms, but in practice the three
cultures were not completely distinct. It was perfectly possible
for Christians to wear designs of pagan derivation, and in
magical amulets there was often a free mixture of pagan and
Christian elements.
A remarkable 4th-century gold ring now in the Virginia
Museum of Fine Arts has the bust of Asklepios, the Greek god of
medicine, engraved on its bezel (fig. 1). On the left of the bezel is
the god’s attribute, the staff with a snake coiled around it, while
on the right is the invocation ΥΓΙΑ, or “health.” The shape of
the ring’s hoop, which is octagonal, enhances the prophylactic
content of the engravings on the bezel. According to the
therapeutic handbook composed by the 6th-century Byzantine
doctor Alexander of Tralles, a ring with an eight-sided hoop had
the ability to prevent colic (Alexander of Tralles VIII, 2, ed.
Puschmann 1878–79). Not infrequently, rings with octagonal
hoops bear magical devices on their bezels, such as the Chnoubis,
a serpent with a lion’s head that was believed to be effective in
preventing pains in the stomach and also problems with the
womb. Since marriage rings were often provided with octagonal
hoops, it is likely that the eight-sided shape also was associated
with healthy childbirth.
Another pagan deity who made a frequent appearance on
late Roman and early Byzantine jewelry was Aphrodite, who
appears engraved on the bezel in a second gold ring preserved in
the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts (fig. 2). The goddess is enthroned
and adorned with a chain around her neck, as well as bracelets
on her arms, wrists, and ankles. At her feet two naked erotes
wrestle with each other, and beside her is an inscription that can
be translated as “cessation for those who desire.” In this case,
the connotations of Aphrodite concern erotic love, but in other
works of art she seems to embody other ideas as well, such as
female adornment, or good fortune in general. The connection
with female adornment is made explicit by the reliefs on the
4th-century silver marriage casket of Projecta, which was
discovered on the Esquiline Hill in Rome (fig. 3). Here the goddess
of love appears on the lid, looking into a mirror while she adjusts
a strand of her hair, thus precisely replicating the actions of the
bride, who is portrayed beneath, on the front of the casket,
beautifying herself for her marriage. Since the inscription on the
lid of the casket exhorts the married couple, Secundus and
Projecta, to “live in Christ,” it is clear that the owner of the box
was a Christian. The appearance of the goddess on Projecta’s
wedding silver, therefore, is not a sign of her pagan faith, but
rather an evocation of both physical love and female beauty. A
late 6th- or early 7th-century pendant on a necklace now in the
Dumbarton Oaks Collection also portrays Aphrodite. The
goddess stands in gold relief against a deep blue shell carved in

lapis lazuli (fig. 4). Her action of wringing water from her hair
suggests that she is rising, still wet, from the sea. On account of
its date, it is likely that this beautiful piece of jewelry was owned
by a Christian woman. A more general connotation of good
fortune is suggested by a 5th-century pavement depicting Aphro­
dite, which was found in a bath building at Alassa on the island
of Cyprus. In this mosaic the goddess is seen standing beside an
Eros, who holds out a mirror so that she can arrange the
strands of her hair. The goddess is flanked by an inscription
reading ΕΠ ΑΓΑΘΟΙΣ, or “for a good cause.” The same
invocation appeared on gold phylacteries, containing charms
written on rolled up strips of metal, which were worn suspended
on chains around the neck.

Christian Motifs
Several pieces of jewelry in the exhibition take the form of, or
are marked with, crosses. More than any other sign, the cross
was considered to be explicitly and unambiguously Christian. A
motif such as the vine, for example, could be associated either
with Christ, who declared “I am the true vine” (John 15:1), or
with Dionysos, the pagan god of wine. The same ambiguity
characterized many other symbols that were commonly employed
in the arts of Late Antiquity, such as a chalice (whose wine did
it contain?), or a sheep (was it the ram of Ammon, or a member
of Christ’s flock?). Even portrait images could be suspect; it did
not escape people’s notice that there was a resemblance between
images of the mature Christ and the idols of Zeus, both showing
the hair and beard long, with a part at the center of the forehead.
The anxieties raised by this resemblance are encapsulated in a
story related at the end of the 5th or the beginning of the 6th
century by the ecclesiastical historian Theodore Lector and
embellished by later writers, such as John of Damascus in the
8th century. According to this legend, a certain pagan who lived
in the 5th century commissioned an artist to paint an image of
Christ so that he could use it to surreptitiously venerate Zeus. As
a result of this misuse of the icon, the hands of the unfortunate
artist were withered. But the cross was different; it contained no
uncertainty. According to the 6th-century monastic writer
Barsanouphios, the devil might show the image of some man as a
false portrayal of Christ in a dream, but the devil would not be able

henry maguire

45

to show a cross, for “inasmuch as we know the true sign and image
of the cross, the devil does not dare to use it (ed. Schoinas 1960).”
Crosses were ubiquitous in early Byzantine culture. Not
only did they appear on jewelry, but they also adorned people’s
clothing, utensils, lamps, furniture, and houses. Crosses appeared
in places of commerce and of work, in markets, in quarries, in
boats, and on the bodies of beasts of burden. Crosses frequently
took over the protective work of the old pagan deities; at
quarries such as Aliki on the island of Thasos, for example, they
replaced the old images of Herakles. At the entrances of
buildings, crosses replaced the pagan gods as guardians. John
Chrysostom declared approvingly: “We depict it [the cross] with
much zeal both on houses and on walls and windows . . . for this
is indeed the sign of our safety (In Matthaeum homilia LIV, 4).”
The fish, which is engraved into the bezel of one of the gold
rings in the exhibition (cat. no. 62), was one of the oldest symbols
in Christian art. Already at the turn of the 2nd and 3rd centuries,
Clement of Alexandria lists the fish among the motifs that he
sanctions for engraving upon signet rings (Paedagogus III, 11).
Nevertheless, the fish was one of those motifs whose meanings
spilled over from the Christian into the secular and magical
realms. In the domestic arts of the household, such as clothing,
furnishings, tableware, and floor mosaics, fish often represented
the element of water in compositions that evoked ideas of
fertility and abundance. In some parts of the Mediterranean fish
took on an apotropaic role, defending houses from envy and the
baneful influence of the evil eye. In Tunisia, floor mosaics placed
at the thresholds of houses depicted an eye being attacked by
snakes and by fish, so that the prosperity evoked by the fish was
seen to nullify the misfortune brought by the gaze of the envious.
To these beneficent connotations of the motif Christianity added
an overlay of multivalent, and sometimes contradictory,
messages. The fish could represent the Christian soul, swimming
in the abyss of mortality, from which he or she will be rescued
by Christ and his apostles, the “fishers of men” (Mark 1:17).
Alternatively, the fish could represent the living water of baptism.
Or the fish could refer to Christ’s miracles of the loaves and the
fish, and thus to the Eucharist. Finally, the Greek word for fish,
ΙΧΘΥΣ, was seen as an acronym for the phrase “Jesus Christ,
God’s Son, Savior.” In spite of the frequent Christian use of the
symbol, a certain ambiguity persisted, even in churches. In the
early 6th-century mosaics in the narthex of the basilica of
Herakleia Lynkestis, for example, there is a remarkable pavement
mosaic depicting, in a maplike setting, the earth surrounded by
the ocean. The earth is represented by a central rectangle
containing a line of trees of different species, while the ocean is
portrayed by a surrounding band in which there is a variety of
water creatures. Two of the fish in this border are depicted lying
one over the other, so that their bodies form the arms of a cross.
Here the artist clearly wished to indicate that these fish were not
only part of the map, that is, signs of the ocean, but in addition
they were to be interpreted as symbols of salvation. In the case
of the ring in the exhibition, the addition of three crosses above
and below the engraving of the fish clearly indicates its Christian
significance.

46

One of the objects in the exhibition, a silver armband (cat.
no. 79), is engraved with two schematic scenes from the New
Testament, the raising of Lazarus and the visit of the Maries to
the tomb after the resurrection of Christ. These subjects evoke
the power of Christ, even over death, but the primary purpose of
the images was not to educate the wearer about scripture, nor to
be a focus of veneration. Rather, the function of the motifs was
to protect the wearer from harm, as is suggested by another scene
engraved on the same armband, which shows a rider spearing a
demon lying under the hooves of his horse. As we shall see below,
this motif, the so-called Holy Rider, was associated with magical
power and the averting of evil.
In the early Byzantine period, many people also wore Gospel
scenes depicted on their clothing. This practice could be found at
all levels of society. In the mosaic of Theodora at San Vitale, the
empress herself is attired in a splendid cloak of purple silk that
has the three Magi embroidered on its hem, holding out the gifts
they bring to Christ (see Cameron, fig. 3). The same scene was
frequently portrayed on cheaper tapestry-woven tunics of wool
and linen, which were worn by those of more modest means. On
some tunics, the scene of the Adoration of the Magi was repeated
many times over on the same piece of clothing. The repetition of
the subject, and the fact that it was often depicted in a highly
schematic and all-but-unrecognizable way, indicate that the
purpose of this New Testament scene on the tunics was not to
provide instruction, nor to receive veneration. If the Gospel
episode was intended to instruct, or to be used as an icon, it would
have had to be more easily recognizable, and it would not have
needed to be repeated. It is more likely that the Magi were
invoked on the tunics in a semi-magical way as archetypal
wayfarers and pilgrims whose role in the life of Christ was an
assurance of protection to all who traveled. The Magi were also
emblematic gift-givers, who received favor from God in return.
The frankincense that they offered signified the incense that
accompanied prayer. In the words of John Chrysostom, the
Magi “offer gifts, gifts, that is, not as to a man, but as to God.
For the frankincense and myrrh were a symbol of this . . . they
approached [Him] not as a mere man, but as God and benefactor”
(In Matthaeum homilia VIII, 1).
Writing at the end of the 4th century, a Christian bishop,
Asterios of Amaseia, said that wealthy Christians of his day
wore Gospel subjects, especially Christ’s miracles, woven into
their clothing because they felt that garments decorated in such
a manner would be “pleasing to God,” and thus attract his favor
(Homilia I).
In the case of the empress Theodora, there is a political
overlay to the significance of the scene. The artists wished to
flatter the emperor and empress by making a comparison
between their offering a paten and a chalice to Christ, who is
shown in the vault of the apse, and the Magi offering their
tribute to the newly born Christ Child. But in drawing this
comparison, the mosaicists faced a difficulty, because the Magi
were three, whereas Justinian and Theodora were only two.
They very deftly solved the dilemma by partially concealing
the first Magus behind a fold in Theodora’s cloak. Thus we see

personal adornment: glory, vainglory, and insecurity

enough of the first figure to correctly identify the scene, but, for
the purposes of the comparison with the emperor and the empress,
only two of the Magi are fully visible.

Magical Motifs
We have already observed the intermingling of Christian and
magical motifs on the silver armband in the exhibition. The
display also includes an object that is primarily magical in its
imagery, a two-sided amulet of the 5th or 6th century that
portrays a Holy Rider on one side and the evil eye under attack
on the other (cat. no. 76). The Holy Rider was a frequent subject
on magical amulets, but he also appeared in other media, such as
stone carvings (cat. no. 78) and wall paintings. The victorious
horseman was a character who assumed various guises. He
could appear as the Thracian rider-god Heron or as the Egyptian
god Horus, who was shown on horseback spearing a crocodile,
in a manner reminiscent of later Christian portrayals of St.
George and the dragon. He could also be the emperor, as on
2nd-century Roman coins that show the mounted emperor
lancing a prostrate enemy. On some 5th- and 6th-century
Byzantine coins, the emperor carries a shield on which is
portrayed a horseman spearing a recumbent enemy, proving
that the device was able to protect both an individual ruler and
his whole empire from harm. On amulets from the private
sphere, the rider is often labeled as Solomon, who reputedly held
power over the demons. On some of the charms, the rider spears
a bare-breasted woman, who may be identified as Alabasdria, or
Abyzou. According to a popular magical treatise, the Testament
of Solomon, this demon killed infants during childbirth. Other
amulets identify the rider as St. Sisinnios, who, in one medieval
legend, captured the demon Gyllou and forced her to bring back
to life his sister’s seven babies, whom the demon had killed.
Sisinnios also made the demon reveal her twelve and a half
names, which included Abyzou and Myia, or “fly.” Flies were
associated with demons in the popular imagination, an
association that we might find reasonable today, given their role
in the spread of infection.
Knowledge of the names of the demons, and of the troubles
in which they specialized, was an important step toward their
control. The Testament of Solomon tells how the king summoned
thirty-six demons before him in turn, forcing them to reveal
their names as well as the specific spells or devices that blocked
their activities. The thirty-fifth of these demons stated that his
name was Rhyx Phthenoth, explaining that “I cast the glance of
evil at every man. My power is annulled by the engraved image
of the much-suffering eye (ed. McCown 1922).” This is the
device that is shown on the other side of the amulet with the
Holy Rider in the exhibition. The eye appears in the center,
being attacked by daggers and spears above and by noxious
animals such as lions and long-beaked birds below. As we have
seen, the motif of the evil eye was also employed as a protective
device in other media, such as floor mosaics set at thresholds.
In conclusion, the motifs found on jewelry and apparel in
the late Roman and early Byzantine period reveal a completely
different world from those on display in churches. In the

death and rebirth
Aristotelis Mentzos
Reverence for martyrs is one of the foundation stones of the
Christian church community. Martyrs are Christian heroes.
Contrary to some late 19th-century theories, which interpreted
the veneration of martyrs as a survival of pagan hero or ancestor
worship, more recent research has distinguished between the
way Christian martyrs were honored and pagan notions of hero
worship. An important difference between the heroes of pagan
cults and the Christian martyrs is that the former were recognized
only within the context of the family or the population group to
which they belonged, whereas the martyrs are recognized
throughout the whole Christian community all over the world.
Nevertheless, if we see the totality of believers as constituting a
family whose members are connected to one another in brotherhood, then the veneration martyrs receive continues to have a
private aspect, although its impact is much more widespread
than that of the pagan cult of heroes. The second and more
important issue is that the honoring of heroes simply reinforces
the individual’s self-consciousness and the sense of belonging to
a social group. Heroes only have the power they derive from
their actions. By contrast, the honor paid to martyrs establishes
a direct channel of communication between the believer and
God, because the martyrs, by witnessing to their faith in God,
are in touch with Him and can intercede for the faithful.
Ancient prohibitions aside, the distinction no longer exists
between public and private regarding the honor due the Christian
dead; the worship of God, Jesus Christ, meaning the celebration
of the Eucharist, can take place at a burial place, in this case the
martyr’s tomb. Evidence for this custom goes back a long way and
is found as early as in the Book of Revelation 6:9: “When he broke
the fifth seal, I saw underneath the altar the souls of those who had
been slaughtered for God’s word and for the testimony they bore.”

Tombs and Cemeteries
The historical commemoration of martyrs is based primarily on
the identification of the site of their martyrdom or their burial,
which is a sacred place, or locus sanctus, and secondly on the
accounts of the martyrdom (martyria), in which the records of
the martyrs’ trials take pride of place. Officially the memory
of the martyrs is kept alive by the preservation and recitation of
relevant texts on their feast day (the anniversary of their
martyrdom or death) or on the anniversaries of events connected
with their lives and re-enacted in funerary rituals at the burial
sites, with such rites as reading the texts of the martyrion, prayers
at funerary feasts, libations, and celebration of the Eucharist.
After the Peace of the Church was established in 313, the
veneration of martyrs developed into one of the main focuses of
the Church’s social and political organization, on a par with the
hub of official worship within the city, the cathedral. Bit by bit,
the marketplaces, baths, and gymnasia of the cities were
abandoned as socio-political centers in favor of the cathedral,

48

death and rebirth

just as the pagan temples on the outskirts of the city were
abandoned and in their stead arose shrines to the martyrs (also
martyria) in the Christian cemeteries outside the walls.
The importance of Christian cemeteries lies in their role as
the loci of the martyrs and in the honor and veneration offered
to them. The concentration of graves around the tombs of the
martyrs, the burials ad sanctos, is based on the conviction that
the bodies of the martyrs possess sanctifying powers as a result
of their death in martyrdom. In the second half of the 4th
century, St. Gregory of Nyssa allowed some of the relics of the
Forty Martyrs to be placed in the tomb of his ancestors “so that
when the [day of] Resurrection comes, they may arise with the
assistance of these intercessors.” St. John Chrysostom believed
that even the tombs of the martyrs had sanctifying power: “not
only the bodies but also the graves of the martyrs are very
powerful. . . .” And this power is unaffected, whether the
sanctifying relic is intact or not: “they did not cast off that
[power] which they had, but after being cut in two and sliced in
pieces many times, the force fragmented into something better
and stronger.”
It is difficult to distinguish between martyrs and simple
believers among the early Christian dead. In the euphoric climate
of the first Christian centuries, the first Christians to die were
considered worthy of honor. Local traditions were strong and
autonomous in the 4th century: after the legitimization of the
church, the cemeteries belonging to the church community in
each town became the focus for the giving of honor and
veneration to local martyrs.
The celebration of the Eucharist over the tombs had its
beginnings in the early version of this rite as a communal supper
and is linked with the practice of celebrating a commemorative
meal in memory of the dead, the refrigerium. On the cover slabs
of the tombs of martyrs or of prominent Christians, who were in
any event the objects of honor and veneration, can be seen
libation holes for the pouring of liquid offerings connected with
the eucharistic feasts. This is attested in monuments such as the
grave slab of Bishop Klematios (fig. 1) from the cemetery of a
basilica in the district of Lykabettos in Athens; in the cover slab
from the enkainion of St. Demetrios, patron saint of Thessa­loniki,

which actually comes from an earlier tomb monument; and in
the grave slab of Bishop Eustathios in the funerary basilica of the
martyr Kodratos in Corinth. Evidence for the celebration of
feasts is found in the frequent presence of a table, whether built
in the conventional marble form or of masonry in the shape of
an altar on top of a platform spread over the tomb.
The space above the tomb is usually furnished with portable
wooden or permanent stibadia, built-in couches (fig. 2) for use at
funerary feasts. The arrangement of the space also recalls those
funerary feasts when an open-air triclinium (dining room) is
fashioned above a tomb or tombs with masonry benches in the
form of the Greek letter Π. In these cases there is usually an apse
or arched niche opposite the entrance, for ritual use. More
complicated constructions such as tribunes were made up of walls
lined with masonry benches. Along the short sides there could be
wooden columns supporting architraves on which offerings of
flowers and fruits were hung.

cruciform martyrion of St. Babylas in Antioch.
A subsidiary element in the honoring of the dead martyrs
was water. Funerary rituals required the plentiful use of water,
and wells were a simple solution. Wherever possible the water
came from the water-supply network of the city and was stored in
water towers (castella aquae)—larger ones in major urban centers
such as Thessaloniki or smaller ones, such as the cistern next to
the north aisle of the funerary basilica in Dion, south Macedonia.
The funerary church or the church of the martyr thus
honored was at the heart of the veneration of the Christian dead.
In Illyricum, i. e., the Balkan peninsula, these churches are usually
basilica-style buildings with a narthex and atrium, which
emerged in the second half of the 4th century. They are built in
the original nucleus of the cemetery, above tombs that are left
undisturbed wherever possible, whereas later tombs are placed
inside and around the exterior walls of the building. The ban on
placing the dead in urban churches did not apply to funerary

The above-ground structure could also be an enclosed
hypostyle in a shape influenced by pagan tradition, which
connects the subterranean tomb of the hero with the groundlevel ritual space, as seen on a monumental scale in the Heroon
of Kalydon. Similar structures were set up in the same period
above the tombs of the martyrs in the Roman catacombs. The
oldest structure over the tomb of St. John in Ephesus belongs to
this group of monuments, as does the ground-level martyrionheroon above the tomb in the southeastern cemetery at Philippi
and the aedicule (little house) attested in the sources as built over
the burial spot of St. Demetrios in Thessaloniki. These struc­tures
are clearly centers of veneration, based on the evidence of
tradition or archaeological finds, and come under the category
of martyria in the form of canopy or baldachin. A. Grabar
includes in this group also the rectangular central part of the

churches. The burial of the dead follows certain rules: the use of
the nave is avoided, especially of its east end, which is close to
the sanctuary, and in particular the sanctuary itself. Proximity to
the sanctuary is determined by the ecclesiastical rank and
prestige of the deceased: “Post mortem meruit in Petri limina
sancta iacere” (after death he deserved to lie within the sacred
space of [St.] Peter). Graves were mostly dug in the atrium, the
most suitable place for burials, or in independent chambers,
spaces that communicate with the outdoor space, often purposebuilt for burials. In this respect, the two cemetery basilicas of
Corinth and the extra muros basilica at Philippi are typical.
It is not always possible to identify the tomb that as an
object of veneration was at the heart of the cult. In some cases,
such as the Ilissos basilica in Athens, the basilica on Tritis
Septembriou Street in Thessaloniki, or the single-nave basilica at

aristotelis mentzos

49

Ivanjane in Bulgaria, it can be detected, whereas elsewhere, such
as the two cemetery basilicas in Corinth, it cannot. It is also
possible that a funerary church is established above a nucleus of
earlier Christian burials in the absence of any specific venerated
martyr’s tomb, such as the cemetery basilica of Dion.
Typologically, funerary churches are not very different
from the usual parish churches. Apart from their placement (the
fact that they are located outside town boundaries and the
burials accompanying them), another distinguishing feature is
the multitude of adjacent structures and auxiliary spaces that
funerary churches have.

Martyria
In the period immediately after the Peace of the Church, the 4th
to 5th century, the extra muros martyria flourished. The church,
in accordance with the Roman model—Rome naturally setting
the example for other communities—celebrated rites in the
extramural martyria on the feast days of local saints. Christian
martyria might be located inside the city or outside it. Funerary
martyria were not exclusively linked with martyrs in the narrow
sense of the word, i.e., believers who had sacrificed their lives in
the name of their faith. Distinguishing a venerated tomb from a
simple Christian one is not always easy. The epigraphic or
historical data or, where these are lacking, the architectural
layout, based on their use as sites of pilgrimage, are important
elements in making this distinction. This happens when a martyr
is recognized as “owning” these tombs and they end up as
shrines. Then they are surrounded by precincts with spaces for
particular purposes and other devotional buildings are constructed
next to them, as happened at the basilica of Paulinus in Nola or
in the expansion of the triconch church in Antigoneia (modern
Albania), or they may be reorganized so that the liturgical space
available is extended, as in the conversion of a funerary aedicula
into a triconch church in Gortyna, Crete.

the setting up of altars or martyria in the names of martyrs by
individuals without the presence of either a bodily relic or some
other object securely linked with a martyr, or without some local
connection to an event related to a martyr. This restrictive ruling
only applies to martyria and not to “parish” churches, or
churches of the local community. At the same time composing
general martyrologies (lists of martyrs according to their feast
days), entailed expurgating local traditions and registering genuine
martyrs in an official church tradition. These developments led on
the one hand to local martyrs being forgotten and on the other to
a general opening-up of the veneration of the “official” martyrs
to the whole of Christendom. As a direct consequence of this, the
custom of translating the relics of known martyrs (translatio)
spread (fig. 3). This custom began in the Late Antique period but
intensified in the Middle Ages.
The martyria in extramural cemeteries or in the suburbs are
usually single-aisle churches, either isolated or with later additions
of lateral aisles, as at the basilica at Panorama in Thessaloniki;
they can also be three-aisled basilicas or buildings of central
plan: cruciform, triconch, or circular. One group of martyrial
basilicas, indigenous to Macedonia, had a circular ambulatory at
a lower level, which runs round the inside of the semicircular
wall of the apse, to the east of the synthronon, the semicircular
construction of sitting benches for the clergy. This arrangement,
which seems to have appeared first in Thessaloniki and from
there spread to the rest of Illyricum, probably had its origins in
Rome. There was a more or less similar ambulatory in the basilica
of St. Peter’s; an even closer parallel was created in the Lateran
Basilica in the time of Pope Leo the Great (440–61). Later this
arrangement was also adapted to other Roman basilicas. The use
of this ambulatory has a clear connection with the cult of a martyr,
although in some cases, such as the supposed ambulatory around
the apse of the earlier church of Hagia Sophia in Thessaloniki, this
relation is problematic.

An attempt was made by the official church to control the
veneration of martyrs in the Local Council of Carthage in 419,
Canon XIV: “De basilicis que sine martyrum reliquiis dedicatae
sunt” (In the Eastern Church tradition, this is Canon 83: “On the
fraudulent monuments to the martyrs”). The ruling discourages

50

death and rebirth

Christian martyria were also inspired by the architectural
types of Roman mausolea, in which case they can be either
cruciform or centrally planned. Cruciform martyria have their
origins in cellae trichorae, apsed funerary buildings laid out on a
clover-leaf plan; they are usually of limited size, and are attached

to churches so that the burials can be ad sanctos. In this case, the
arms of the cross are used for burials. The best-known monument
of this type is the so-called mausoleum of Galla Placidia in
Ravenna. In Thessaloniki we know of a similar martyrion
attached to the martyr’s basilica on Tritis Septembriou Street.
We also know of another, very close to the extra muros basilica
in the eastern cemetery at Philippi. In Bulgaria there is a cruciform
martyrion in the old town of Tirnovo [Tsarevets], another in
Botevo near Vidin, and a subterranean cruciform martyrion
attached to the martyr’s church in Voden near Bolyarovo.
Centrally planned cemetery martyria usually have simple plans;
they are not double-shelled like urban martyria, where the
celebration of the Eucharist, which demands an articulated
space, plays a bigger role. The centrally planned, single-cell
polylobed cemetery martyria are monumental structures that
were not necessarily built to honor martyrs. The criterion by
which one can judge whether they belong in the category of
shrines or are simple mausolea for noble families is the number
and layout of the graves they contain, as well as the existence of
annexes for funerary or liturgical purposes.
Martyria that imitate banquet halls constitute an interesting
architectural category. On the one hand, they are centrally
planned, typically polylobed mausolea, such as the five-niche
martyrion in the western cemetery of Thessaloniki, another with
six niches in Philippopolis (Plovdiv) in Bulgaria, and the octagon
in Patras. Or they may be halls that imitate the somewhat later
oblong triclinia with lateral exedras for sitting benches, the
accubita, such as the mausoleum known as St. Gereon’s in
Cologne, another in Pec´ (Hungary), and yet another in Hagioi
Saranda of Old Epiros / Epirus Vetus (Sarandë) in southern
Albania (fig. 4). In general, the buildings that copy banqueting
halls have a symbolic character, as they are inspired by the
notion of paradise as a heavenly banquet.

The martyria that imitate triconch triclinia belong to the
same category. The triconch is a widespread type of triclinium,
the most common after the apsidal, rectangular chamber, once
the stibadium (cushioned day-bed) had prevailed over the couch
as dining furniture. This type of “banqueting hall” was also used
for burials of prominent members of the Christian community,
as the place for hosting the dead, alluding to paradise as the
place of heavenly feasting. In the imitation of the triclinium in its
simplest form, the layout takes the form of a triconch, exemplified
by the triconch martyrium in Akrini, Kozani. This shape may
also appear as the result of a conversion: a pagan funerary
heroon in Losenetz, Bulgaria, was transformed into a triconch
martyrium by the addition of lateral exedras on either side of the
rectangle, following the pattern of the eastern exedra of the
original construction. In other cases, once the building has been
extended, the body of a single-aisle basilica is added to the
triconch, which then serves as an apse, such as the Virgin
Drosiani in Naxos. Or a three-aisled basilica can be added to the
original triconch, as in the cases of the basilica of St. Gabriel on the
island of Kos, the basilica at Knossos in Crete, and that of St. Lot
on Mount Nebo, in Jordan.
Buildings of urban martyria have as a rule sizes corresponding to the size of the city; to a large extent they are structures to
flaunt the prestige of that city. In Thessaloniki a massive, centrally
planned ecclesiastic building near the west wall, between the
Letaia and Golden Gates has been tentatively identified as the
martyrion of St. Nestor, companion to St. Demetrios, the city’s
patron saint. It has not been possible to ascertain the exact shape
of the building, as it has been only partially uncovered in
excavations on construction sites in the area. However, central
planning is not the norm in a martyrion, nor does it necessarily
indicate a more important martyr in relation to simpler, basilican
buildings: important urban martyria, such as that of St. Demetrios
in Thessaloniki, St. Leonidas at Lechaion (Corinth), and
St. Achilleios in Larisa, are in fact basilicas. The first two were
five-aisled basilicas that were provided with a special liturgical
arrangement of the east end in the form of a transept, as is the
case of the Lechaion basilica, or with something similar to a
transept, as at St. Demetrios. During the Late Antique period,
architecturally important, centrally planned martyria were
erected in almost all the large cities of Illyricum, as well as in
some smaller ones. The tetraconch of the Library of Hadrian in
Athens must have functioned as a martyrion, whether it had a
Christian character from the start or only after it was converted
to Christian use. Other such martyria include the rotunda of the
Archangel Michael in Kissamos on Crete; the round martyrion
of St. John on Kos; the round martyrion in Konjuh, the
tetraconch in Ohrid, both in the Former Yugoslav Republic of
Macedonia; the round or hexagonal church in Amphipolis; and
the Octagon of St. Paul at Philippi. Some large urban basilicas
were equally important martyria, some of them with five aisles,
and almost all of them characterized by the development of the
east end into a transept, as is the case of the urban basilicas in
Nikopolis and also the basilicas at Dodona, Klauseion, Lechaion,
Epidauros, and Sparta.

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51

Until the early years of Constantine’s reign, the custom
of visiting and venerating the shrines of martyrs was limited to the
immediate environs of the corresponding Christian communities.
But from the second third of the 4th century, with the
encouragement and practical backing of the imperial family,
pilgrimages developed to the places where Christ had lived and
suffered and which had been home to John the Baptist and the
Apostles. Later on, sites associated with the life of the Virgin
also developed into places of pilgrimage, with an intensity that
established her status in the spiritual hierarchy as second only
to Jesus Christ himself. This form of spiritual exercise, the
pilgrimage to the loca sancta, gave a “global” dimension to the
believers’ travels and to the notion of pilgrimage as an act of
religious piety and spiritual benefit. The distribution to pilgrims
of souvenirs of their pilgrimage, the so-called eulogiae, or
blessings, helped to spread this custom.
The fame of the great “international” (by the standards of
the day) martyria was increased by the descriptions composed
by the pious pilgrims who visited them and by the accounts of
the miracles the venerated martyrs performed. The literature
describing the places and the miracles contributed a great deal to
disseminating the fame of the martyrs and their shrines and
boosted the pilgrim traffic. The distribution of mementos of
their pilgrimage, or eulogiae (cat. no. 13), to the pilgrims, first
adopted by the shrines of the loca sancta, also helped to spread
the martyrs’ reputation.

The Evolution of Funerary Monuments and
Martyria at the End of the Late Antique Period
Toward the end of the Late Antique period, from the late 6th
into the 7th century, and in the following centuries, Christian
cemeteries situated at a distance from the city walls were on the
decline, whereas the re-use of graves, shared graves, and
disinterment were the order of the day in cemeteries near the city
walls. At the same time, the out-of-town martyria fell into
decline, and religious devotion began to be concentrated in the
city. This development coincides with the spread of burials in
the cities, starting with public areas which had in the meantime
lost their original use, such as marketplaces, baths, and theaters,
and also around or inside urban churches.
The concentration of the veneration of the martyrs in the
cities coincided with, though was not directly linked to, the
decline of suburban cemeteries and the “entry of the dead” into
the cities themselves. The traditional explanation of the
phenomenon as the consequence of the insecurity caused by
barbarian raids has long ago been rebutted by E. Dyggve. On the
contrary, it seems that this phenomenon was part of a more
general social breakdown, which began toward the end of the
Late Antique period and continued into the early Middle Ages,
a phenomenon that is also expressed through the abandonment
of the countryside and the agglomeration of the population in
the cities. These great social and demographic changes in the
Mediterranean region also affected the functioning of the martyria
in the eastern part of the Roman Empire.

52

death and rebirth

Religious buildings in this period combine the characteristics
of the parish church and the martyrion; in other words, they
hold both the regular communion services and celebrate the cult
of the martyr. This tendency is summarized in the seventh Canon of
the Second Council of Nicaea (787), which ordains that any
churches founded without martyrs’ relics should honor the
depositing of relics with the appropriate prayers. Martyria are
now centers of a “globalized” cult with a mainly curative
function. A prerequisite for the survival of a saint’s cult is the
survival of the community from which it sprang or which created
it. The picture given by Clive Foss of the development of shrines
in Asia Minor is typical. In places where the memory of a highprofile martyr is venerated, special buildings are set up to receive
the devout suppliants: hostels, kitchens, dining halls (refectories),
and even baths, as was probably the case of the bath adjoining
the Octagon of St. Paul in Philippi.
This period, which saw Christianity triumphant and at the
height of its success, also saw the development of the liturgical
typikon, a written set of officiation rules, which relates to the
veneration of popular martyrs in cities. It detailed the celebration
of litanies and stational liturgies in the martyrs’ churches on
their feast day, as well as of stational rituals reconstructing their
martyrdoms. The roots of this liturgical typikon are to be found
in the loca sancta of the Holy Land, particularly in Jerusalem
itself. We know that this practice had also developed in Rome
and in Constantinople, as emerges from the Liber Pontificalis for
Rome and the De Cerimoniis aulae byzantinae for Constantinople,
particularly in relation to the shrines in the latter city dedicated
to the Virgin at Chalkoprateia and at Blachernai. The same may
have happened at Philippi in relation to the cult of the Apostle
Paul and in Thessaloniki during the feast of St. Demetrios.
It is possible that this arrangement may explain the density
of large churches within cities, as at Caricˇin Grad (Justiniana
Prima?), Amphipolis, Nikopolis, and Thessalian Thebes (Nea
Anchialos), as well as in smaller towns, such as Syia on Crete
with its three basilicas. This concentration of large churches
built closely to one other within the city walls is difficult to
explain in terms of meeting the regular devotional needs of their
populations, but this could be explained if we accept that they
also provided for the veneration of popular martyrs and the
requirements of their corresponding cults.
Bibliography
Alivizatos 1923; Sotiriou 1929; Dyggve – Poulsen – Rhomaios 1934;
Grabar 1946; Sotiriou – Sotiriou 1952; Stikas 1961; Duval – Cintas
1976; Dagron 1978; Dumeige 1978; Reekmans 1978 ; Brown 1981;
Vryonis 1981; Krautheimer 1983; Duval 1984; Snively 1984;
Mentzos 1985; Krautheimer – C´urcˇic´ 1986; Marki 1988; Geary
1991; Deichmann 1993; Jolivet-Lévy – Kaplan – Sodini 1993;
De Blaauw 1994; Mentzos 1994; Bosphorus 1995; Bowersock 1995;
Mango – Dagron 1995; Pennas 1995; Christie – Loseby 1996;
Mentzos 1996; Cantino Wattaghin 1999; Laskaris 2000; Varalis
2001; Foss 2002; Marki 2002; Talbot 2002; Mentzos 2005;
Doncheva 2006; Marki 2006; Minchev – Jotov 2006; Spera 2006;
Di Vita 2008; Maraval 2008; C´urcˇic´ 2010.

christian worship
Kimberly Bowes
Church: From Private Home to House of God
When in 313 the emperor Constantine declared his support for
the Christian religion, he was taking a risk. An earlier generation
of church scholars had supposed that in the three hundred years
since the death of Christ, his followers had managed to expand
to the point that Constantine’s declaration of support was
simply a recognition of the inevitable—Christian triumph by
sheer force of numbers. Recent work suggests a more complex
reality. Christianity was very slow to get going: by about 200,
perhaps as many as 200,000 Christians existed on the earth.
Even by maximum estimates of expansion, Christian populations
in the early years of the 4th century probably totaled only about
6 million, perhaps as much as 10 percent of the Roman
population. That 10 percent was unequally distributed: in cities,
particularly Rome and the big cities of the eastern empire, and
among the poorer and, above all, more middling classes—
merchants, lower-level bureaucrats, soldiers, and their wives—
who aspired to rank and prosperity. Christianity had more
limited progress among the senatorial elite and in vast expanses
of the countryside where about 90 percent of Romans lived out
their lives as poor farmers. By 313, in other words, Christianity
had a notable presence among urbanites climbing the social
ladder, but among both old aristocratic elite and the rural
majority the new religion was a vague form on a distant horizon.
Constantine’s support of Christianity in 313 was no capitulation
to an inevitable surge of Christians, but rather a gamble, not
only on a faith but also on a class of people on the move.
This somewhat more sober view of Christian expansion
and, above all, of Christian demographics is important to
understanding the art and archaeology of the earliest Christian
worship. Both the Gospels and the letters of Paul make explicit
the fact that the earliest Christian groups, beginning with Christ
himself, met in private homes. Here they prayed together,
initiated new members into their group through the rite of
baptism, and shared a meal, one moment of which would be
formalized into the Eucharistic rite of bread and wine. The
choice of house for worship space was not an unusual one, nor
was it necessarily motivated by fear of persecution from the
authorities. Ancient houses were not refuges from work and
public life as they are today, but they served any number of
other functions, as places for politicking, for negotiating business
deals, and for religious worship, both within the family and for
extra-family groups. The myriad of religious groups that
populated the Roman Empire—Jews, devotees of Mithras,
worshipers of Dionysos, and others—often met in homes. The
earliest Christian groups were no different, and the home was
the principal space for Christian worship until the time of
Constantine and probably beyond. By the 3rd century, major
cities such as Rome and Alexandria may have had several
hundred Christians who seem to have organized themselves
around specific household meeting spaces.

Archaeologists have applied the term domus ecclesiae
(house of the church) to these domestic meeting places, and they
have labored for over a century to locate them. Despite intensive
excavation focused particularly in Rome and the Holy Land,
only one certain example of a pre-Constantinian Christian
meeting house has been found, located in the garrison town of
Dura Europos on the empire’s Syrian frontier (fig. 1). The Dura
Europos Christian meeting house was originally simply a
two-story house typical of the region, organized around a central
courtyard. At some point about 241, the rooms on the ground

Fig. 1. Reconstruction of the Dura Europos House Church
(From White 1990 [Building Gods’ House in the Roman
World], fig. 18).

floor were remodeled; on one side two rooms were joined to
form a rectangular hall with a raised dais on the eastern end, and
on the opposite side of the courtyard, a smaller chamber was
outfitted with a small niche into which was built a basin and the
walls covered with a fresco depicting Jesus’ miracles, such as the
Healing of the Paralytic, and the approach of the Three Mary’s
to Christ’s empty tomb, along with Old Testament prefigurations
such as David and Goliath. Its hall seems to have been a meeting
room for readings, prayers, and perhaps a Eucharistic service,
although no permanent altar was found, while the other room
served as a baptistery to initiate new converts.
The spectacular finds at Dura Europos, now housed in the
Yale University Art Gallery, remain unique. No other identifiable
Christian meeting house from the first three centuries of
Christianity has been located. Two possible explanations suggest
themselves. The first is that such meeting houses remain to be
discovered or were destroyed by the later monumental churches
built atop them in subsequent centuries. It is more likely, however,

kimberly bowes

53

that the earliest Christians did not modify their houses in any
way that can be archaeologically identifiable as Christian. That
is, Christians probably met, prayed, and shared Eucharistic
meals in their homes without creating specialized spaces or
specialized furniture for these activities. Why they didn’t remains
unclear: fear of persecution is possible, but the single example of
the Dura Europos house church, which lies on an important
street and underwent major and certainly public modifications,
suggests that the reason may be related to the fact that Christians
were simply not very numerous until the middle years of the
third century, indeed, the moment when the Dura house church
was built. Few Christians would have produced few worship
spaces, spaces that, given the small size of many communities,
may simply not have required specialized equipment.
Constantine’s support for the Christian religion caused
radical changes in the space devoted to Christian worship. These
changes should be understood not necessarily as an attempt to
meet the needs of huge numbers of Christians, but rather to
make a rhetorical statement about the importance of the
Christian faith. In 310 Christians seemed to have had only a few
identifiably “Christian” buildings, and these were ad hoc in

Constantine pushed Christianity onto the public urban stage.
Many of these new churches adopted the basilica form
(fig. 2). This form was not invented by Christians or by Constantine
but had been used for centuries in Roman judicial and public
buildings. A long rectangular space was divided into a central
nave and lateral aisles by columns, atop which sprang arches or,
more rarely, a flat architrave. Atop the columns, finely carved
capitals modified the traditional Corinthian order to embed
crosses and other Christian imagery among their foliage, while a
new architectural member—a trapezoidal stone called an impost
block—evolved to bridge the transition from column capital to
arch. The impost block became a showcase for sculptural
virtuosity; like the example from Hypati in central Greece (cat.
no. 98), these blocks not only contained Christian imagery such
as the Four Rivers of Paradise, but they would also eventually be
permeated by a web of foliage so deeply undercut as to make the
block itself seem weightless and the arches and walls above
supported by God’s miraculous hand alone.
Some of Constantine’s churches borrowed from different
Roman traditions and started a parallel trend in church building,
one that would be particularly influential in the eastern

nature—remodeled from houses, baths, and other structures—
and with minimal specialized furnishings. By 320 major Christian
centers, including Rome, Jerusalem, and Antioch, had new,
large-scale structures that shouted out their Christian affiliation
and proclaimed the emperor’s favor for his adopted religion in their
fine sculpture, brilliant interior paintings, and glowing lamps. In
giving Christians their first real, monumental worship spaces,

54

christian worship

Mediterranean: centrally planned buildings. Borrowed from
the circular or polygonal architecture of baths and tombs,
church designs like the Golden Octagon in Antioch or the
church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem (fig. 3) were round
or octagonal rather than rectangular. These centrally planned
structures might have columns marking out an enveloping
gallery or ambulatory from the center, or they might remain

undivided, soaring from pavement to their covering domes.
Just as new, clearly Christian churches provided the Christian
faithful with their first monumental architecture, the furnishings
of those churches announced with sculptural fanfare the special
qualities of Christian worship. The new churches, whether
basilican or centrally planned, had a marked-out sanctuary,

typically opposite the main door and thus the immediate focus of
action and attention (fig. 4). The axially oriented line of columns
that marked out the nave culminated in the sanctuary, where
chancel screens marked its boundaries (cf. cat. no. 101). The
screens separated the faithful from the altar (cat. no. 105), itself
also often covered with sculpture. The cross—the symbol of the
Christian faith—was everywhere here, not only marking this
part of the building as the holiest of holies, but also broadcasting
to a still not-quite-fully Christian world the triumph of the
church. Similarly triumphalist was the decoration on the ambo,
a raised platform for the reading of the Gospels and the giving of
sermons typically placed part way down the nave. Tiny elevated
platforms, sometimes with their own canopies, ambos were like
a church within a church, proclaiming the power of the Christian
histories read from within them, as well as the power of the
Christian bishops who might mount their stairs. On the ambo
from the church of Hagios Demetrios at Nea Anchialos in Central
Greece (cat. nos. 99, 100), intricate foliage, deeply undercut so
that it seems to have sprung miraculously from the marble, has
been wrapped around a structure whose base bore the repeated
images of the cross. The Gospel messages and sermons read
above were thus stamped with the image of the faith triumphant
and surrounded by verdant nature, likewise brought about by the
power of the faith.
The sculpture and other imagery that covered the interior of
the new Christian churches was no mere decoration. It marked
the arrival and proclaimed the triumph of a faith whose success,
even in the age of Constantine, was by no means certain and
whose precarious beginnings and unlikely victory were constantly
recalled to Christians’ minds through the image of the cross.
Constantine’s support did not mean overnight conversion of the
remainder of the empire’s population; that would take the better
part of two centuries. What Constantine gave the Christian faith
was in some senses just as powerful—a monumental, blatantly
Christian architecture that not only housed Christian communities
but also proclaimed their belonging.

The Liturgy
The Christian liturgy developed slowly, beginning with shared
meals and prayers once a week held in private houses and
ultimately culminating with what we term today the liturgy of
the mass, which in major cities may be held every day. It was not
a straightforward evolution, moving inexorably from meal to
Eucharist, from weekly to daily services, from ad hoc readings to
the Divine Service. Regional variation was considerable, and
individuals crafted their own rituals that might either intersect
with those of the communal group or stand alone. In many
respects, early Christian liturgy would have been startlingly
different to a modern viewer accustomed to the Roman Catholic
or Greek Orthodox service, differences illustrated by many of
the objects in this exhibition.
The advent of the first specialized Christian buildings,
particularly those of basilican form, not only provided a
permanent, monumental home for Christian liturgy but also
seem to have exerted their own influence on its development.
Again, it is important to remember that, even in the early 4th
century, Christian communities were unevenly concentrated in
cities and still heterogeneous in their practices. The advent of the
basilica as the most common building type for Christian worship
enhanced certain already existing liturgical practices and,
although we cannot know for sure, probably helped to
homogenize these through a broadly shared building form. By
the 5th and 6th centuries, when most of the objects in this
exhibition were in use, liturgies had become more regularized
and, within regions or specific cities, more homogeneous. As a
result, specific, recognizable furnishings were made to
accommodate these liturgies, objects that represent some of our
most precious evidence for the elements of 5th- and 6th-century
Christian ritual.
One of these elements was procession. The procession of
entrance and exit of clergy and the Gospels still forms part of
Roman Catholic and Orthodox liturgy today, but in early
Christian churches it was more elaborate and embraced the
whole of the church building. In the church of the Hagia Sophia
in Constantinople, about whose 6th-century liturgies we are
relatively well informed, the first entrance began with an
acclamation of the bishop outside the church, after which the
bishop, clergy, and the whole of the faithful trooped into the
church together. The faithful would have carried gifts of food,
including bread and wine, which were by the end of our period
placed in a special room near the apse or, as at the Hagia Sophia,
a separate building. The faithful would then have taken their
place in the nave, with women perhaps isolated in the aisles or
in a second-story gallery, while the clergy sat in great benches in
the apse and the bishop on a raised throne. The so-called Great
Entrance marked the beginning of the Eucharistic liturgy and
saw the bread and wine taken from their storage place and walked
to the altar. At this point the non-baptized members of the church,
or catechumens, were removed to form yet another procession.
Processions were not restricted to the church, however, but
might range over the whole of the city. At times of military
victory, a threatening enemy, plague, or other natural disaster,

56

christian worship

urban processions in large cities such as Constantinople or Rome
marched from church to church, halting to beseech particular
saints and embracing one by one each neighborhood of the city.
These “emergency” citywide liturgies were then repeated on the
anniversary of the day in question and eventually became part of
the city’s religious calendar and an extended part of the regular
liturgy—the so-called stational liturgy. Objects like the proces­
sional cross in this exhibition (cat. no. 112), icons, and relics
would have been carried by the participants, while the bishop
and clergy, gorgeously attired in the garb associated with their
liturgical office, not only made these processions visually stunning
but also marked the literal movement of the church—its symbols,
liturgical apparatus, and liturgical personnel—around the city.
So too the great processions within the church, which moved
from door to apse, back to the altar, and back to the ambo for
the sermon, continually brought together the people, the clergy,
and the most basic elements of the liturgy: the gifts, the gospels,
the bread, and the wine, periodically breaking down their
assigned positions to knit the community together ritually.
The principal element of the liturgy, as it is today, was the
celebration of the Eucharist. It was at this moment that the
blood sacrifice of Christ was reenacted as the bloodless sacrifice
of his community, and thus the central communal moment of
Christian life. The Eucharist was the centering point of the
liturgy and was emphasized by the church’s very architecture, as
well as by the ritual objects that highlighted its significance. The
focal point of any early Christian church, basilican or centrally
planned, was the altar (cf. cat. no. 105). Often made of marble,
the altar took the form of a table and was placed before the apse
inside the sanctuary, where it was protected by chancel screens
(cf. cat. no. 101). Lamps were set to illuminate the altar, small
teardrop-shaped containers for oil placed on the altar (cf. cat.
no. 111) or hung from the ciborium on hanging platforms that
served as candelabra (cf. cat. no. 110). Further veneration of the
altar was made through smell: censers like the silver example
here depicting Christ, Peter, Paul, angels, and saints (cat. no.
109) were used to cover the altar in fragrant incense, driving
away evil, opposing the putrefaction of mortal death, and giving
the congregation a whiff of the eternal paradise prepared by
Christ’s sacrifice. Finally, the containers that held the bread and
wine, which were the object of every congregant’s gaze, received
special attention. Even poor village churches, such as that in
Kaper Koraon in Syria where the Riha paten was dedicated,
might have silver platters on which to place the bread (cat. no.
106), while the wine was blessed in silver cups (cat. no. 108).The
precious materials would have glimmered in the dim light and
been visible even to the throngs in the nave. These objects often
bore imagery that commented upon their use; the so-called Riha
paten, for instance, carried a modified version of the Last Supper.
Instead of depicting that shared meal, however, the image shows
the apostles gathered around an altar and receiving the bread
and wine from Christ. The historical origins of the Eucharistic
liturgy have been re-imagined to show the liturgy in which the
faithful were actually participating. The image of the triumphant
cross again appears everywhere, on lamps, censers, liturgical

silver, and the altar itself, alluding both to Christ’s sacrifice on
the cross that the Eucharist re-creates and to the communal
triumph of the Christian community, whose central communal
act is the Eucharistic moment.
Another element of early Christian liturgy whose intensity
might surprise modern Christians is the cult of relics. Relics were
fragments of bone, hair, or clothing of a holy person, or even
some object, such as a strip of cloth, that had touched a holy
person’s tomb or relics. Veneration of the bodies of holy men
and women had already begun in the later 2nd century, and by
the late 3rd century shrines were being built over their graves. It
was Constantine and his son Constantius II who brought these
in situ graveyard venerations into the church proper—
Constantine, by setting up “monuments” to the Apostles around
his own tomb dedicated to the Holy Apostles, and Constantius,
by actually excavating the Apostles Timothy, Andrew, and
Luke, transporting their remains to Constantinople, and
installing them in a building adjacent to Constantine’s
mausoleum, a church dedicated to the Holy Apostles. The
phenomenon of the translation, or movement, of relics, which
was set in motion by Constantius, meant that a martyr’s remains,
or relics, were not bounded by the grave or the martyr’s shrine
but could be moved into any kind of church, or indeed even be
appropriated by individuals for private veneration.
It was in part because of concern over the proliferation of
martyrs’ remains in private hands, as well as the feasting and
partying that took place at martyrs’ graveyard tombs, that
bishops sought to control the worship of martyrs, restricting
their veneration to churches under episcopal control. Martyrs’
relics eventually became required in all churches and were placed
beneath the altar as part of the ritual of consecration performed
by the bishop. The consecration reliquary that transformed the
Temple of Asklepios in Athens into a Christian church (cat. no.
104) contained the remains of some unknown martyr (or saint)
and would have been placed beneath the altar in order to
guarantee the martyr’s protection for the new church and the
bishop’s seal of approval.
The phenomenon of relics and their translation reminds us
of the many aspects of Christian liturgy that are portable and
thus could take place outside the great public churches, and,
indeed, beyond the watchful eye of the bishop. Many of the
objects on display here—the great patera, goblets, or the altar
itself—probably come from church contexts. But other objects,
including lamps bearing the cross and even smaller patera or
cups, may just as easily have been used in more personal
contexts, such as a home or private chapel. Domestic prayer and
personal liturgies were a mainstay of daily life in the Late
Antique world, as people of all religious persuasions sought to
plug the gaps between the heady moments of the public mass
with small-scale but probably more frequent rituals. Just as Greek
Orthodox households today reserve a corner for images of the
saints, candles, and written prayers that serve as a focus for
household devotion, so too many Late Antique Christians (as
well as pagans and Jews) would have had similar installations in
their homes for personal relics, a holy image, or simply a lamp lit to

accompany supplications for the well-being of self and family.
It was not only in the household, however, that liturgy was
personalized. Many of the liturgical implements used in public
churches bear the name of the person who donated them, from
the modest lamp tag that recalls Thekla (cat. no. 102) to the
great Riha paten (cat. no. 106), which was given to the tiny
church of St. Sergios in the Syrian village of Kaper Koraon by
one Megas, an imperial curator. The names of individuals,
including laymen and especially clergy, might cover every surface
of the church’s liturgical furnishings, from the altar and chancel
screens to lamps and Eucharistic vessels. By giving to their
church in this way, individuals not only obeyed the calls for
charity but also inscribed themselves into the liturgy, tying their
names to the community’s united call for divine aid and
salvation. In some sense, this was not new; the Greco-Roman
temple was littered with altars and other equipment used by
individuals to call for special, personalized aid for themselves
and their families. In the Christian churches, however, these
calls were literally knit into the communal liturgy and its
furnishings, the personal call for salvation being merely a
piece—a lamp, an altar leg, a paten—of a ritual apparatus defined
by the community as a whole. We must imagine the voices of
Megas, the curator, and the anonymous donor of the Peter/Paul
censer as the most penetrating voices of an entire choir, the call
of a community for divine aid resounding through the prayers
and furnishings of the liturgy.

the emergence of christian art:
old themes and new meanings
Fabrizio Bisconti
Christian art did not appear suddenly in response to the demands
of patrons who wished to express through images the ideas,
faith, and outlook of a new and different religion in the context
of the multicultural climate that characterized the ancient world
of Late Antiquity. Rather, the process was slow and gradual, if
incessant, and spanned the first centuries of Christianity,
beginning in the early 3rd century when the “world of death,”
the more sophisticated and less preserved world of liturgical
practice and the simple world of daily life simultaneously merged
into a figurative realm, as if to express an “image revolution”
that had settled paradoxically and perfectly into the cultural
environment of Late Antiquity.
The first steps of a Christian art proper, therefore, moved
along a path that ideally continued the iconographic evolution of
the past, a tradition centered on mythical heroes, personifications of the cosmos, and the genre repertoire derived from
the most current forms of Hellenic culture spread throughout the
Mediterranean Basin and the Middle East.
Certain figurative traditions that were especially favored at
the time of the Antonines and the Severans served as significant
and popular subjects in the evolution of an art that eventually
led to figurative Christian expression. The grandest and most
celebrated theme embraced the subject of the cosmos, in the
most comprehensive sense of that term, including time and space
as well as elements and seasons. Interlaced with Dionysian culture,
these themes found their most explicit manifestations in funerary
art, functioning as background for the fresco decorations of
sepulchral spaces and for the sculptures that adorn sarcophagi
dating to the first half of the 3rd century. In this respect, we must
remember that the production of Roman sarcophagi, which
departed from the great Attic mythological tradition prevalent
in Rome up to that time, introduced subjects ranging from
marine to terrestrial themes, at times combining the elements of
the cosmic order to embed within it the ineluctable destiny of the
dead. The cosmic habitat thus becomes both a metaphor for
earthly life and an image of another world, one that man strives
to attain, a perfectly harmonious existence lived according to the
inescapable laws of nature. In these monuments, commissioned
by an aristocratic and wealthy elite fully aware of current religious
and philosophical ideas, the cosmos is represented through
parades of nymphs, sea and land gods, monsters, animals, genre
scenes, and symbolic motifs.
It is, indeed, at the beginning of the 3rd century that all of
these figurative elements appeared again in reduced and symbolic
form on the walls of private hypogea and catacombs, on the
walls of cubicula, in arcosolia, and along galleries. The stylization
of these elements depicted within complex linear systems of red
and green—the ultimate synthesis of Vesuvian architectural
decoration—attests, on the one hand, to the inexorable continuity
of the cosmic theme at a place and a time in which Christianity

58

was coming to affirm itself openly and, on the other, to a slow
subsiding of iconography of the past in order to allow room for
the symbols of the new religion.
Within the cosmic theme there were implanted certain
“images” that, while personifying virtues and conditions, also
prepared the access to new protagonists of Christian art, resulting
in the so-called paradisiac or crypto-Christian sarcophagi that
were conceived in Roman ateliers between the fourth and sixth
decade of the 3rd century. On the front of these sarcophagi
parade images of the shepherd kriophoros (lamb-bearer), pietas,
the fisherman, and the philosopher in a more or less orderly
fashion. Each figure carries meaning in itself as well as in relation
to the other figures. Let us consider first the image of the shepherd
carrying the lamb. At the same time it effectively embodies the
concept of sacrificial idyll and can also be associated with the
mythical figure of Hermes the psychopomp (escort of souls to
the afterlife) and, as such, must also be incorporated into the
larger theme of tranquillitas (tranquility), which characterizes
the great pastoral sarcophagi where shepherds and farmers
animated rural genre scenes. Thus the kriophoros represents a
definitive synthesis of these broad agro-bucolic settings and also
serves as a symbol of humanitas and, sometimes, represents the
goodness that will come to define the parable of the lost Christian
sheep and eventually become a Christian symbol. Yet the
kriophoros may also derive from the cosmic contexts that relate,
as we mentioned above, to genre paintings where the imaginary
landscape is studded with peasants, fisherman, and convivial
scenes describing a blissful and serene world that is both real
and ideal. In these contexts, the figure of the fisherman joins that
of the peasant to share the pax terra marique parta (peace on land
and sea) that clearly alludes to the otherworld of Late Antiquity.
Let us return to our crypto-Christian sarcophagi and let us
recall in particular those in Basel and La Gayole. Here the four
personifications clearly coexist and relate to one another: the
fisherman and shepherd and, even more so, the philosopher and
the muse. The latter pair, solid and more commonly found in
Roman art, embodies the great theme of the muses that was
already popular in pagan sarcophagi, but it has experienced a
mutation in the sarcophagi we are considering here. The female
figure of the muse has changed from a listener absorbed in the
words of the sage to become image of the pietas erga homines et
adversus deos (piety among men and toward the gods), the
personification of one who listens or offers oneself, through a
form of unconditional devotio, as an attentive and receptive
interlocutor. The pensive air of the listener is replaced by a
solemn posture, expansis manibus, with arms outstretched and
palms open, which will come to epitomize the basic gesture of
the new figurative imagery. This orant figure and the lambbearing shepherd leave behind the semantic baggage of the past
and its multiple meanings to become a standard pair in the art of
the catacombs, best illustrated in a cubiculum from the Licinia
area in the cemetery of St. Callistus.
Yet the expansis manibus gesture also developed
independently, eloquently recounting the evolution of Christian
figurative language. The gesture conveys the feeling of happiness

the emergence of christian art: old themes and new meanings

found in divine peace and celestial bliss. Prayer here is not
intended as a plea or request for intervention but as continuous
praise to the Lord, who rehabilitates man after original sin
through esoteric interventions, baptism, martyrdom, and
spiritual and physical healing. This interpretation is based on the
words of the Church Fathers, who provided a most direct and
reliable testimony. In the first letter to Timothy (2:8) Paul writes:
“I desire, then, that in every place the men should pray, lifting
holy hands without anger or quarreling.” Clement of Rome later
clarifies: “Let us approach him with holiness of spirit, lifting
onto him pure and undefiled hands.” The habit of praying with
raised hands is discussed by Justin and Minucius Felix as a trait
that characterizes pagans and Christians alike, whereas
Tertullian specifies that Christians open their palms in addition
to raising their hands. This gesture, which mimics the position of
Christ on the cross, will also be adopted by the figures of the Old
and New Testaments, as well as by the dead, the saints, the
martyrs, Mary, and Christ. In sum, this gesture alludes to the
perpetual prayer that, for Christians, does not resolve itself
on earth but extends to the other world, as attested by Paul
(1 Thessalonians 5:17), who invites the faithful to praise the
glory of God incessantly and without interruption.
As mentioned above, the figures of the fisherman and the
philosopher are featured in the decorative sequences on
paradisiac sarcophagi, as well as in the older paintings of the
catacombs. According to ancient Hellenistic convention, the
fisherman is depicted holding a pole and a net. As we shall see,
the great story of Jonah will soon replace this figure, developing
the marine theme with its vis tragica, while the philosopher will
follow a long path that will lead from historical philosophy to
Christian catechism, as attested by the Roman hypogeum of the
Aureli in viale Manzoni. This funerary environment—which can
safely be dated to the first half of the 3rd century, as it is enclosed
within the Aurelian walls—offers a decorative program that
includes, among other things, the theme of philosophy in every
shape and context: from the wise man in an ideal building or
urban setting to huge sequences with sages in the most diverse
philosophical poses and small figures bearing staffs and scrolls
symbolizing strength, tools for developing the forms of reasoning
that open up new paths toward an uncertain hereafter.
The decorative program of the Mausoleum of the Aureli
reflects the culture and tensions of the Roman aristocracy at that
time. Its iconography expresses an ideal, blessed world that
exists somewhere between town and country, where members of
the family, or of a slightly more extended group, enjoy the
afterlife. In this rich and complex dimension, the dead are
represented not only in the guise of philosophers, but also as
shepherds, knights, rhetoricians, and guests. A century later, in
the hypogeum of Via Dino Compagni, again in a private funerary
context, the theme of philosophy, which is developed in one of
the panels through the use of full figures and busts of
philosophers, reaches its apex with an enigmatic scene that
features a group of men seated in a semicircle, each wearing a
tunic and pallium. In the presence of a figure dressed like a cynic,
they are arguing about a nude man who lies before them and to

whom one of the participants is pointing (fig. 1). Rather than
depicting a medical lesson, this scene is meant to represent a
lesson in philosophy, and it acquires particular value if we
consider that it reemerges precisely before a maiestas Domini
with Christ flanked by Peter and Paul, almost as if it designates
a confrontation between historical philosophy and new faith.

The neutrality of the first figurative experiments elaborated
by Christians gradually give way to a selection of scenes directly
inspired by the Bible, even though preference is still accorded to
those featuring time-honored compositions. Indeed, some scenes
seem to replicate the most popular iconography of classical
mythology. Thus the depiction of Jonah resting under the arbor
reflects Endymion’s sleep, and the image of Orpheus playing the
lyre (fig. 2) will inspire that of the shepherd, by way of David the
psalmist. Similarly, the symbol of the phoenix—like that of the
peacock—continues to represent the resurrection of the flesh. As
anticipated, certain myths provided compositions for episodes
of the Old Testament, as is the case with the Creation of Adam
and Eve and their Expulsion from Eden, perhaps already
represented in the hypogeum of the Aurelii and certainly on the
sarcophagi and frescoes of mature Christian art, according to

the iconographic order that informs the myths of Prometheus
and of Herakles in the garden of the Hesperides. In this respect,
we must note that the Herculean cycle will enjoy a long life in
Late Antiquity, as we encounter it in the hypogeum of Via Dino
Compagni, both in the canonical episodes of the Labors and in
the touching story of Admetos and Alkestis. And in the same
hypogeum—albeit later, perhaps during the brief rule of Julian
the Apostate—we still recognize cosmic contexts that culminate
in the cubiculum of Tellus but are expressed through personifications of the seasons or those relating to abundance.
These themes are closely linked to the repertoire of the
classical past and alternate with endless narrative cycles from
the Old Testament featuring Noah, Moses, Samson, Job, and
Balaam, as well as scenes from the New Testament, such as
those of Christ multiplying the loaves and fishes or talking with
the Samaritan woman at the well.
Rome is not the only place where early Christian art emerged
and evolved, or where this art fused with classical tradition. A
series of explicitly Christian artistic expressions occurs simul­
taneously in various centers of the Mediterranean and the
Middle East. A group of statuettes, unearthed in an unidentified
Middle Eastern village and sold on the antiquarian market is
housed today at the Cleveland Museum of Art. These little
statues, which may have originally decorated a garden or
nymphaeum, represent busts of the owners of the house, but
also the Good Shepherd and most significant episodes of the
story of Jonah. It is precisely these representations, which
decorate a lost arcosolia in the cemetery of Bonaria in Cagliari
and date to the mid-3rd century, that demonstrate how at a very
early stage Christian scenes spread to the remotest cities of the
Late Antique world by using similar methods and compositions.
It so happens that, in the famous domus ecclesiae (houses used
as churches for the community) of Dura Europos and, similarly,
in the baptistery and cubicula of the Sacraments of the Area I of
St. Callistus in Rome, we recognize the same compositions, such
as Jesus’ healing of the paraplegic and his conversation with the
Samaritan woman. And again in the baptistery of Dura Europos
we find the Good Shepherd, Adam and Eve, and the struggle
between David and Goliath, as in the cemeteries of St. Januarius
in Naples, St. Felix in Nola, and Domitilla in Rome.
The times, methods, and places seemed to reach a sort
of harmony: the Christian figurative language in all of its
developments consistently adopted the same rhythm and attained
the same results, as the great mythological themes gave way to
the beautiful stories of the Bible. Although isolated scenes, such
as the Annunciation, the Nativity, the Adoration of the Magi,
the Baptism, and the Crown of Thorns, appear in the catacombs
and in the oldest cult buildings, certain symbols—the anchor,
the fish, and the dove—were drawn from the cosmic sarcophagi
of the 3rd century to decorate the oldest neutral or early Christian
epitaphs, as in the funerary inscriptions of the catacomb of
St. Sebastian.

The same stories of salvation selected from the Bible that
emerged in the catacombs during the 4th century also appear on
sarcophagi with continuous friezes. But the earliest scenes in
which God is pictured emerged in a funerary context, beginning
with the traditio legis (handing down of the law) inspired by
imperial ceremonies. From the assembly of the Apostles organized
as a philosophical council, of the type found in the hypogeum of
Via Dino Compagni, is taken the central nucleus with Christ
giving the law to Peter, according to the dynamic that animates
the episode of Moses receiving the tablets. Paul looks on with
approval, taking part in the solemn occasion as a dignitary of
equal importance, in a paradisiacal environment between the
cities of Bethlehem and Jerusalem. From here sequences of lambapostles emerged, moving toward the mystical Lamb of God
(agnus Dei) situated on the mountain from which the four rivers
of Paradise flow. The scene, imbued with the political and
religious language of the time of Constantine and his sons,
perhaps originated in Peter’s martyrdom—hence the funerary
context. This prototype spread first to the great imperial
mausoleums, especially that of Costanza and later to all monuments
and statues. The traditio legis will share its fortune with the
maiestas Domini and also with the concordia apostolorum, that
is, the embrace of Peter and Paul, which signified, from the time
of Pope Damasus, the union of Church and empire.
All of these scenes, inspired by the ideas circulating in
imperial courts in the late 4th century, either in conflict or
in agreement with those animating the churches of the time, found
their natural place in the apses of cult buildings, while the old
biblical scenes, organized according to a system of concordances
theorized by Paulinus of Nola, unfolded along the naves. Such is
the case in the basilica of S. Maria Maggiore, where, following
the Council of Ephesus of 431, the triumphal arch was adorned
with the infantia Salvatoris (childhood of Jesus) and the side
aisle with an unbroken string of episodes from the Bible arranged
in sequences already tested in the Constantinian cupolas of
Costanza and Centcelles.
Emerging Christian art now opened up to apocryphal and
apocalyptical themes as shown above, respectively, in the apse of
S. Pudenziana, the counter-façade of S. Sabina in the 5th century,
and the apse of the basilica of Ss. Cosma e Damiano, which by
the 6th century inaugurated the new Byzantine season and
another chapter in the history of Christian art.

portraits and icons
in late antiquity
Katherine Marsengill
In the early 5th century, the prefect Olympiodoros, who was
building a church dedicated to the holy martyrs, was unsure
about how to decorate his church, and so he sought advice.
Olympiodoros described what he envisioned for his church in a
letter to the ascetic Neilos of Ankyra. The prefect imagined that
images of martyrs would be set up in the sanctuary and that the
rest of the church would be decorated with hunting and fishing
scenes, animals and plants. In his reply, Neilos warned against
this; he felt strongly that only the cross should adorn the
sanctuary as a straightforward reminder of salvation, and, so
that the mind would not be distracted by frivolities, Old and
New Testament scenes should be depicted on the walls of the
church (PG 79, 577–80). The latter, Neilos claimed, would serve
the illiterate.
Delivered just a few decades earlier, Gregory of Nyssa’s
sermon glorifying St. Theodore tells a different story about
Christian images, one of vividly painted scenes of the saint’s
torture and death that were on display at the saint’s shrine
(PG 46, 737). For Gregory, the violent scenes were not only
appropriate but also rather important. They served to heighten
the emotional reactions of pilgrims, who were so overwhelmed
by the sights and sounds at the shrine that they found themselves
already weeping by the time they entered Theodore’s tomb.
Gregory’s contemporary John Chrysostom provides insight
into Christian images that were used in yet another fashion. In
the funerary panegyric he composed in honor of Bishop Meletios,
John recounts how the community had placed images of the
beloved bishop everywhere—on rings, bowls, seals, and the
walls of houses—because the people desired to keep the physical
appearance of Meletios constantly before them (PG 50, 516).
These three texts demonstrate strikingly different conceptions
about the place of images in the public and private lives of early
Christians, especially regarding the representations of Christian
heroes. They also illustrate what is justifiably confusing in our
attempts to understand the use of images of saints in Late Antique
Christianity. In the Greco-Roman world, it was traditional to
display images of venerable figures, which may have inspired the
prefect Olympiodoros as he contemplated the decoration of his
church. If Neilos’s letter of reply is authentic, then we can
interpret his advice to limit decoration to the cross and didactic
narratives as based on an opinion similar to those expressed by
many 4th- and 5th-century church leaders who sought to curb
image worship. The tendency to adore images was a common
pitfall in a society habituated to the veneration of images, but
images were also viewed by some mystics and theologians as
unnecessary—indeed as hindrances—to the cultivation of
spirituality. Gregory, on the other hand, saw the representations
of St. Theodore at his shrine as part of the sensual experience of
the saint, and he understood the image’s power both to narrate

events and to elicit compassion, especially when placed near holy
relics. Over the course of the 4th century, images had become
integral to celebrating the martyrs. Several descriptions of
shrines survive to tell us that images enhanced Christian places
of worship and helped to create the sensation of heavenly
presence. These holy places were worlds apart from mundane
affairs of Late Antique life and its everyday assaults on the senses.
Neither Neilos nor Gregory makes any suggestion that the
images they were discussing were portraits of the saints, but
with John’s description we are given a glimpse of something
quite different behind the intentions of the community as it set
up images of Meletios. The images of Meletios were not
narratives of his life and death, nor were they imaginative
depictions. Indeed Meletios’s community knew the appearance
of their bishop, and there may have been portraits that were
painted during his lifetime serving as models. Meletios’s portraits
presented his face to viewers for their contemplation, since
portraits of a deceased loved one provide consolation to the
living in a way that only portraits can. In all the texts, but
especially John’s panegyric, we can identify the fertile ground in
which the holy icon of Byzantium was sown; but we can also
recognize, although it is not explicitly stated, that Meletios’s
community was engaging in a kind of active veneration of the
bishop through his portraits. For a person of Late Antiquity, it
was only natural to honor a deceased leader in this way.
Late Antique art has always been described in terms of
transition, the visual production of a culture as it moved from
one point to another. It is an art in relation—in relation to its
departure from the classical and in relation to what it would
become in the Middle Ages. The Christianization of the Roman
Empire was no minor change, and the title of this exhibition and
the objects displayed reflect the complexity of this process free of
the former bias that judged Late Antiquity in terms of decline.
Late Antique portraiture has been treated especially scathingly
in the past by historians who saw the naturalistic portraiture of
the Hellenic and Roman world as something that fell victim to
this period of transition, a genre subsumed into the abstracting
otherworldliness of Christian images. These opinions were
gradually modified over the course of the 20th century as
scholars came to consider medieval visual culture as art in its
own right. Yet though the status of medieval art was raised, it
was not without some repercussions to the study of Late
Antiquity. Historians of medieval art tend to look back and see
the style of Christian art as one that eventually overcame
naturalism, an inevitable outcome of a visual and conceptual
shift that had percolated over centuries. Portraiture, especially
the great sculpted portraits of the Romans, faded into obscurity
as flat, two-dimensional depictions of Christ and the saints
proliferated. This phenomenon reveals much about the medieval
perception of the world and the body (see C´urcˇic´). The
disappearance of the naturalistic portrait has been understood
as part of Christianization, no matter if one sees it as the demise
of classicism or the triumph over it. The rise of the holy icon
sealed the fate of portraiture and the place it had held in

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61

antiquity. This did not happen quickly, however, and most
scholars accept that veneration of holy images of Christ and the
saints began in earnest in the 6th century.
The function of holy icons in Christian worship is a very
complex problem that still divides scholars today. One aspect
has remained particularly troubling for scholars: where in the
art of Late Antiquity could one find the seeds for what would

medallions and one in a rectangular frame. A 2nd-century panel
portrait of a woman, found in a grave at Hawara in Egypt, has
the same rectangular frame, which is illustrated twice in the
painting inside the artist’s sarcophagus as hanging on the wall
and set on the easel (fig. 2). Although the portrait from Hawara
is the only antique example we have that has this frame, the type
was used centuries later; at least three early icons from Mount

grow into the holy icon of later centuries? We may begin where
many early scholars on the subject of icons began, namely, with
the portrait panel. Portraiture has traditionally been considered
the ubiquitous preoccupation and greatest triumph of GrecoRoman art. Our impression of antiquity is one covered in marble
and stone and decorated with sculpture and reliefs, so it may be
surprising to discover that panel painting was especially
esteemed. In the 1st century, Pliny the Elder praised painting
above sculpture and describes in his Natural History (35, 1)
many examples of portable or panel paintings in encaustic (wax
pigments). However, it is only in the arid climate of the Egyptian
desert that examples of panel paintings have been preserved, and
of these the mummy portraits represent by far the largest body
of evidence (we will return to the mummy portraits presently).
Yet we know panel paintings were common throughout the
Roman world. Roman wall paintings survive that are decorated
with illusions of hung panels—of landscapes and portraits,
images of gods, even freestanding triptychs painted as if
displayed on trompe l’oeil tables. The interior of an artist’s stone
sarcophagus dating to the turn of the 2nd century shows the
painter at his trade (fig. 1). The artist is depicted in his workshop,
seated in front of a box of paints and an easel. Three portraits
are painted as if hung on the wall behind him, two in circular

Sinai were framed this way. Portraits were especially important
to funerary practices, and it may be that framed portraits were
hung in tombs, since frescoes in tombs mimic on walls the
portrait genre, depicting the deceased in square or round frames.
An interesting example suggests that separate portraits could be
incorporated into larger wall compositions. The cubiculum of
Oceanus in the catacomb of St. Callistus outside Rome shows
the bust of the deceased painted directly on the tomb’s vault, but
with a blank rectangular area outlining where his face should be.
Holes in this area tell us that a portrait of the deceased—perhaps
on linen or panel—had once been fixed there.
Portraits in many media could be found in the domestic
sphere and used in ancestor cults. Roman tradition demanded
the display of portrait masks of ancestors in the homes of Rome’s
elites. Originally made of wax, portrait masks were kept in
cupboards and taken out during funerals and worn by
participants, so that all family members were present with the
deceased. Pliny states that portraits had once been preserved in
colors, but in his time clipeate (round) portraits made of bronze
had become fashionable. The author laments that the new
versions were idealized and flashy and lacked the reserved
decorum of the past (Pliny, Natural History 35, 2). Portraits
were also used in cult practices honoring deceased teachers,
philosophers, and pagan holy men. For example, Pliny also tells
us that followers of Epicurus carried around a portrait of the
philosopher; they kept private images of the philosopher, as well
(Pliny, Natural History 35, 2). In Egypt, not just portraits but
entire mummified bodies were sometimes preserved in homes—
stored in special cupboards, displayed in atria, or placed in
separate shrines. Mummies were also placed in funerary chapels
and in large family tombs, where they could be visited by living
relatives. The vita of the first Christian ascetic, St. Anthony of
Egypt, attests to the practice of keeping the body in view. At the
time of his death, Anthony ordered his disciples not to display
his body, as was customary, but to bury it (Vita Antonii 90–91).
Both pagans and Christians alike believed tombs were
places where the living could interact with the deceased.
Continued devotion to the deceased ensured that they would
offer aid from the supernatural realm, intervene when possible,
and intercede with higher spiritual entities on behalf of the
living. Festivals honoring the dead continued well into Late
Antiquity, even among Christians. Private commemoration at
family members’ graves was a tradition Christians were reluctant
to give up. Augustine of Hippo famously complained about these
practices, during which members of his congregation would
gather at the tombs of their loved ones, drink to excess, and
adore the images of the deceased (De moribus ecclesiae catholicae
34.45). Scholars have recognized that this belief in the concentrated
supernatural power that could be accessed at the tombs of the
dead also infused the atmospheres around the tombs of the martyrs
as Christians gathered there to honor them. These gatherings
were also likely to lapse into indecorous behavior, but eventually
churchmen encouraged their congrega­
tions to approach the
martyrs in a much more sober and subdued manner.

The exhibition features three mummy portraits from Egypt
(cat. nos. 139–141). Until their discovery in the late 19th century,
antique panel painting had been known only from texts and a
handful of examples. With the discovery of mummy portraits, a
significant gap in the study of the panel portrait genre, whether
ancient, medieval, or Renaissance, had been filled. Yet it was
among those who study icons that the mummy portraits
resonated most loudly, and scholars immediately declared the
mummy panels to be the ancestors to Byzantine icons. The
comparison between mummy portraits and icons was buttressed
with evidence that had already been uncovered in the mid-19th
century, when the earliest icons in existence were discovered at
the isolated monastery of St. Catherine at the foot of Mount Sinai.
Four early icons, including an icon of St. Sergios and St. Bakchos
(fig. 3), were taken to Kiev in the Ukraine. The icons, which date
to the 6th and 7th centuries, share remarkable similarities with
the mummy portraits. Indeed, the earliest icons bear a closer
resemblance to the antique portraits of Egypt than to Byzantine
and Eastern Orthodox icons of later centuries. Like many of the
mummy portraits, they are painted in encaustic, and, though
there still is the expected abstraction, many are executed in a
more naturalistic style than later icons. Moreover, the growth of
the cult of the martyrs over the course of the 4th and 5th centuries
provides a sensible context for the origin of the icon. The
funerary portrait, so it appeared to icon scholars, was adapted
for Christian usage at martyrs’ shrines, where it evolved into the
holy icon.
The icon’s unique abstractions could also be properly
explained by its funerary origins, as some of the same tendencies
were observed in the mummy portraits, which evince the desire
on the part of viewers to communicate with the deceased.
Emphasis on the ongoing relationship between the living and the
dead influenced the appearance of the eyes, which were
frequently enhanced, made larger and more luminous, in order

to create the feeling that the deceased were present. Enlivened by
such portraits, the bodies of the dead—placed either in tombs or
in households—gave the impression that the dead could see and
interact with the living. Their large eyes also convey a sense of
deep spirituality and wisdom. In rituals involving the dead,
portraits offered an assuring visual component, presenting to the
living the familiar faces of loved ones in the otherworld. As they
gazed out from the panels, their serene faces undoubtedly calmed
the anxieties of the living about the afterlife. Mummy portraits
seem to conform to a larger trend that can be observed in Late
Antique portraiture, a trend that eventually resulted, in the
opinion of scholars, in the holy icon. Late Antique people, for a
variety of reasons that were also important to the formation and
spread of Christianity, turned away from representations of
external appearances. Many eschewed the material body
altogether and disdained its representation in art. Others
concerned themselves with the notion that portraits were useful,
because they could convey something about the interior, or
spiritual, nature of the individuals depicted. We see a type of
representation in Late Antique portraiture that subverts
naturalistic features in favor of typified features that were used
in order to express the internal qualities of the person. The shift
in human representation from naturalistic to flat, abstract
images has often been called the rise of the spiritualized portrait.
It is a type of portraiture distinctive to the Middle Ages, but
which emerged during the 3rd and 4th centuries, the age of
Middle- and Neoplatonism, Gnosticism, Docetism, and similar
philosophic and religious movements that emphasized the
transcendent nature of man. Most important to the subject at
hand is that this perception profoundly affected the orthodox
Christian understanding of how the physical body could visually
manifest a person’s interior spirituality.
Painted panels existed in other facets of Late Antique
society as well. Best known are imperial panels, which did not
lose any ground when the empire was Christianized. Imperial
icons were venerated throughout the Byzantine period, and the
belief that the emperor deserved the honor that was given to him
through the veneration of his portraits was never questioned.
There is only one imperial panel that has survived, a tondo
(ca. 200) with portraits of the emperor Septimius Severus and his
family, also from Egypt. The appearance and medium of Late
Antique and Byzantine imperial portraits, however, are known
from texts (for example, John Chrysostom’s Ad illuminandos
catechesis II: PG 49, 233), which describe them as wax panels
bearing the likeness of the emperor, and from manuscript
illuminations, both secular (such as Notitia Dignitatum) and
sacred (such as the Rossano Gospels). For a long time it was
argued that imperial portraits and imperial iconography spear­
headed the development of Christian images in the 4th century.
In recent years, the influence of pagan icons has also been
considered. Painted on panels, framed, and sometimes shown
with diminutive donor portraits, pagan icons share the medium
of Christian icons and ostensibly their function, namely, for
veneration. There is reason to include pagan imagery in our
understanding of Christian art. During the early centuries of

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portraits and icons in late antiquity

Christianity especially, the identity of Christ conformed to a
number of types, both humble and exalted—the good shepherd
(cat. nos. 117–119) and robed philosopher, the bearded gods
Serapis and Jupiter, and the youthful, effulgent sun god Sol.
Some icons of saints inherited pagan iconography. The
palimpsest of the holy riders of Thrace, for example, may be
discerned in icons of the warrior St. Demetrios, who appears on
his horse brandishing his spear and conquering foes. The cult of
Isis was very extensive in the eastern Mediterranean. Painted
images of the enthroned goddess—who was called Theotokos
(Godbearer)—nursing her divine son, Horus, still survive in
fragments found in private households, icons no doubt set up for
the benefit of women. Memories of Isis can be observed in the
image of the Virgin Mary (declared Theotokos in 431) with the
Christ Child. Disciples of Christ took on the appropriate features
of philosopher-teachers; beards and receding hairlines were
signs of wisdom and experience.
Panel paintings of gods were venerated with garlands,
incense, and candles, which suggests that Christian icons have
more in common with pagan panels than any other kind of
image. Our earliest documentation for the use of Christian images,
however, suggests that portraiture rather than depictions of
deities informed the development of the Christian icon. An early
2nd-century text, the apocryphal Acts of John (24–29), describes
an event in which a disciple of John named Lykomedes
commissions a portrait of the apostle, which he places on an
altar in his bedroom, with garlands and censes, and in front of
which he places lamps. John was a guest in Lykomedes’s home
and, not realizing that it was a portrait of himself, was shocked
to see his host worshiping an image as if he were a pagan. In the
same century, Irenaeus of Lyon (Adversus haereses 1.25.6)
chastised the Gnostics for worshiping an image of Christ believed
to have been made by Pontius Pilate. Unless it was conceivable
to a Late Antique audience (for reasons we cannot comprehend)
to imagine Pilate applying a chisel to stone, we must assume this
was a painted portrait. In the 4th century, Eusebios (Historia
ecclesiastica VII, 18, 4) expressed his displeasure about portraits
of Christ that were circulating among otherwise mindful
Christians, but he did not deny the validity of the portraits.
Indeed, he had seen with his own eyes “images of the apostles
Paul and Peter and indeed Christ himself preserved in painting;
presumably, men of olden times were heedlessly wont to honor
them thus in their houses, as the pagan is with regard to saviors.”
Eusebios also criticized followers of Simon the Sorcerer for
worshiping his painted image (Letter to Constantia: PG 20, 1545ff).
These texts provide evidence for the use of portraits of
Christ and other saints by Christians, who treated them in a
manner that could be construed as pagan, not in the sense of
who were venerated in the images, but how they were venerated.
Moreover, these were not funerary portraits, although they were
commemorative. We must remember that pagans venerated
portraits of all kinds, and therefore their attitudes about portraits
set the only examples for Christians who wished to express the
same sentiments toward their own leaders and “saviors.”
Porphyry, the 3rd-century pagan and disciple of Plotinos, writes

that the honor shown toward a portrait of a friend is given to the
friend, suggesting to us that the beliefs guiding the veneration of
imperial portraits and the images of gods and goddesses were
equally present in the honor shown portraits of loved ones
(Contra Christianos, fragment in Makarios Magnes, Apocriticus
4, 21, translation by Berchman, 2005). What differs is the level of
intimacy; we can only imagine the numerous undocumented, ad
hoc, and ritual offerings, and even the spontaneous displays of
affection by people to portraits of their friends, loved ones,
spiritual or philosophical leaders, and patrons. Similarly, in our
early Christian accounts, there is an emphasis on portraiture,
especially likenesses painted during the lifetimes of Christ and
the saints, as well as the idea that they could be venerated
privately as a way to show honor to the one portrayed.
It is perplexing, then, why the earliest acknowledged
evidence for Christian icons dates to the 6th century, when the
encaustic icons from Sinai were painted and when texts about
icons proliferated. Miraculous icons and portraits of Christ that
magically appeared imprinted on other surfaces, icons that
protected the capital of Byzantium and led troops to battle, and
many more icons that demonstrated power to act (almost)
autonomously, flourished in the 6th and 7th centuries. For these
reasons, scholars attribute the birth of the icon to the 6th century
and not before. The reasons for this, however, define Christian
icons according to what icons looked like and whether they were
part of a cult in which a recognized holy person was venerated
through his or her representation. For the latter, it should be
emphasized that there was no word that distinguished an icon as
something different than a portrait. The Greek word eikon
simply meant “portrait” and signified a representation of a
particular person who, depending on his or her spiritual or
social status, might be closer to God and therefore more capable
of commanding God’s ear. This person could be a living
intercessor, such as a bishop or holy man, or a deceased person.
Among the deceased, a person could be commemorated by only
a few followers or inspire a large and sustained cult. The
6th century saw the rise in miraculous icons, which is its own
phenomenon. This is an important nuance; in some circles of
Late Antiquity the practice of portraiture—creating a likeness
of something else—was not an artistic expression, but a
philosophical question. The same concerns about portraits are
attested in Christian writings and culminated in the iconoclastic
debate of the 8th and 9th centuries. It was not just image
adoration that was problematic, but also a question about the
limitations of portraiture, in other words, what a portrait was
capable of portraying, especially in regard to depicting the
divinity of Christ. The existence of miraculous icons provided
substance to iconophile arguments about the legitimacy of icons
but was by no means the primary reason why icons (or better,
portraits of those worthy of veneration) should be venerated.
As for the first criterion that defines an icon as a certain type
of image, we may look to other kinds of portraits in other media
and contexts for possible counter examples. If we judge the icon
of Late Antiquity in terms of its stylistic and functional
similarities with the icons of the 6th century, we place emphasis

on the image and not on the viewer; we look at the problem
from the wrong direction. In a culture that was so diverse in its
artistic expression, it may not be possible to find in the 4th
century panel paintings of saints that not only look like later
icons but also match the 6th- and 7th-century descriptions of
miraculous holy icons. Rather, the icon can be found in many
faces and in many media, in public and in private domains, in
the desire of various peoples in Late Antiquity to have likenesses
of loved ones and esteemed people that could serve to focus the
sentiments of viewers. Such images were used in the gentlest
commemorations, as well as in the most profound expressions
of veneration. The origins of the icon can indeed be seen in the

veneration of the emperors and gods, but perhaps they are more
comparable to the intimate engagement provided by portraits of
holy men and philosophers, family and friends. As Christianity
opened up to admit larger sections of Rome’s diverse population,
numerous attitudes about portraits and the traditions that
accompanied them entered into Christian practices. What changed
was who became worthy of veneration. The community of
Christians became family, bishops and ascetics became spiritual
leaders, and the saints were the friends of God and man.
Nor did it necessarily matter if the portrait was accurate,
although this strikes us as odd considering our definition of a
portrait. Indeed, it was more important that the portrait
conformed to the expectations of the viewer. Christian portraits

katherine marsengill

65

provided viewers a feeling of connection with people who had
attained the highest levels of spirituality, and the stylization of
facial features enhanced the experience. We can see, then, how
the figures in a 6th-century wall painting from the monastery at
Saqqara in Egypt were considered portraits by the monks living
there (fig. 4). Monks’ cells lined with images of saints presented
a series of exemplars upon which the living monks could meditate.
Additionally, the saints at Bawit have been painted in a way that
visualizes the belief that they had been spiritually transformed;
they return the viewer’s gaze with the peaceful, knowing eyes of
the transcended.
Fourth-century Church Fathers used the portrait/icon as a
metaphor to describe the close relationship one might have with
such Christian exemplars. John Chrysostom held the apostle
Paul up as an example of virtue after whom Christians should
endeavor to model themselves. The words of the saint allowed
one to “gaze into Paul’s soul, just as into a certain archetypal
image (archetypos eikon).” John felt that preaching allowed his
listeners to sketch the saint in their hearts and keep within them
this perfect example, painting themselves in the image of Paul’s
perfect image. Indeed, Christians were encouraged to make of
themselves icons of icons. Basil the Great (Epistle II, 3) writes:
“As painters when they paint icons from icons, looking closely
at the model, are eager to transfer the character of the model to
their own work, so he who strives to perfect himself in all
branches of virtue must look to the lives of saints as if to moving
and living images and make their virtue his own by imitation.”
Although it is vastly interesting that this passage refers to icon
painting in the 4th century, it implies something even greater
about the conceptual importance of icons in the 4th century.
Basil makes the copying of icons a metaphor for imitating the
saints, telling his followers that spiritual attainment is reached
through endeavoring to copy from perfect models. Indeed, the
conceptual nature of painting is already apparent in the
2nd-century Acts of John, when, after John realizes the portrait
is of himself, he tells Lykomedes to become like an artist and
paint his soul with the colors of faith and good deeds; these
“colors,” we are told, have been made visible and accessible to
Lykomedes from God through his representative, John (Acts of
John 29). One could easily argue that there was no atmosphere
more conducive to the advent of the holy icon than one in which
the people of a given society were intent upon making themselves
into images of images, and who saw the Christian exemplars as
reflections of the divine, and themselves as reflections of these
reflections.
Moreover, spiritual achievements could be seen in the faces
of the spiritually advanced, as if they had been painted with
bright new colors. Maximos Confessor describes the appearances
of holy men by saying, “the result is that God alone is made manifest
through the soul and the body, their natural characteristics being
overwhelmed by the transcendence of glory (Capita theologica et
oeconomica 2. 88).” Just as Moses’ face shone with the radiance
of God when he descended from Sinai, mystical encounters were
made wholly visible in one’s countenance. Thus, what looks to
us to be abstracted and typified, was perceived as a true portrait

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portraits and icons in late antiquity

of a holy person as he or she actually looked. The stylistic devices
were deployed through the filter of a distinctive way of seeing,
where it was understood that the face of the person mirrored his
or her transcended soul.
John Chrysostom was not the only one to laud Bishop
Meletios. Gregory of Nyssa, too, delivered a funerary panegyric
dedicated to the bishop in which he told those who had gathered
to hear: “No longer does he pray to the type or shadow of the
things in heaven, but he looks upon the very embodiment of
these realities. No longer through a glass darkly does he intercede
with God, but face to face he intercedes with Him: and he
intercedes for us,” (translation by Ph. Schaff, 1892).
When he was alive, Meletios was an image of heaven
directed toward the people; in death, he became an intercessor
before God. Meletios’s portraits were not merely a consolation
but presented the viewers the face of one whom they considered
an intercessor. The community would have certainly been
comforted in the knowledge that one of their own had entered
the heavenly realm. The reproduction of his portrait was
undoubtedly accompanied by certain notions that were prevalent
in Late Antiquity about the ability of the portrait to provide
communication with and access to the world beyond. It is no
surprise, then, that by the 6th century portraits became increasingly
important to church decoration, and biblical narratives, images
of martyrdom, and decorations associated with paradise receded.
After Iconoclasm, to walk within a church was to be embraced
by the panoply of familiar faces, men and women who were loved
by God, who were supreme examples of the Christian faith, and,
because they had transcended their materiality, had become
connections between the earthly and heavenly realms.

aesthetic shifts in
late antique art: abstraction,
dematerialization, and
two-dimensionality
Slobodan C´urcˇic´
History of art as a discipline was born in Florence during the
15th century on the coattails of a new artistic tradition known as
the Renaissance. The new art and its name, meaning “rebirth,”
grew upon a broad ideological foundation aimed at reviving the
artistic traditions of ancient Greece and Rome. Accordingly, the
Middle Ages, the period between antiquity and the Renaissance,
came to be viewed as an age of general decline in the arts. Thus,
already three centuries before Edward Gibbon (1737–1794), the
developments that took place between ancient Roman civilization
and that of “pre-modern” Europe were dismissed by the
Renaissance ideologues as products of an age dominated by
the uncivilized “barbarians,” peoples originally living outside the
frontiers of the Roman Empire. Their invasions of the Roman
territories, starting in the 3rd century, contributed to the decline
of the empire and eventually led to the total collapse of its
western half. The “barbarian” order brought with it a new art
whose accomplishments were perceived by the Renaissance elite
as decadent failures. Thus, a lasting dismissive judgment of the
artistic heritage of the Middle Ages was cast, while the notion of
Art was confidently applied only to the artistic tradition
associated with antiquity and its post-medieval “rebirth.” As
Peter Brown points out in his historical introductory essay, this
negative attitude gradually began to change only during the
decades between the two world wars. New views of history and
history of art began to emerge, and the “end of antiquity”
eventually ceased to be viewed as an “end.” Recognized instead,
as a new era in its own right, Late Antiquity emerged from a
decreed “darkness” as a genuine and vibrant prolongation of the
Greco-Roman cultural tradition couched within the Christian
framework. As this exhibition of Late Antique art attests, the
epoch, in Peter Brown’s words “was the last and the most open
of the great ages of antiquity.”
The goal of this essay is to highlight the main shifts in
aesthetic principles that distinguish the art of Late Antiquity (ca.
200–ca. 700) within the context of the Roman Empire after ca. 500,
also known as the Byzantine Empire. Largely, though not
exclusively, the art in question is associated with Christianity,
the new official religion of the Roman Empire after 313. In part
reliant on older established aesthetic principles, but in part
having also rejected them, Late Antique art introduced new
principles, in keeping with the religious objectives and tenets of
the new era.
The shaping of early Christian understanding of the role of
art was a long process marked by protracted, contentious
debates. Inasmuch as the breakdown of ancient aesthetics and
ancient principles in art has been associated with the rise of
Christianity, it must be stressed that such a formulaic equation
is inadequate and ultimately misleading. The process, as old as
Christianity itself, actually began outside the Christian frame­

work. Philo of Alexandria, a Jewish-Hellenistic philosopher,
active during the first half of the 1st century, was one of the great
thinkers whose outlook focused on the reconciliation of the
ancient Jewish and Greco-Roman philosophical traditions. In
the realm of aesthetics, he equated beauty in art with natural
beauty. However—in what to us may seem a paradox—
“natural” for Philo did not include the human body, which he
referred to as the source of all “human misfortunes,” a “horrible
prison” in which the human soul languishes incarcerated. In
contrast to natural beauty, which he believed was stable
(durable), the human body, and therefore beauty associated
with humans was, in his view, ephemeral. And so, according to
Philo, the quest of permanent beauty is what sets a wise man on
the path of truth.
Clement of Alexandria (ca. 150–ca. 215), referred to by some
as the first Christian scholar, in some ways followed in the
footsteps of Philo by refining the concept of “true beauty” as
the testimony of “divine wisdom.” Clement was responsible for
the formulation of the general structural principle of the origins
of the universe. According to his concept, it was the “archetype,”
or “divinity” (he avoids the word God), that generated a
sequence of imprinted images. “Image” in Clement’s way of
thinking refers to both visible and invisible entities. The first
imprint of the archetype, according to Clement, is Logos, the
invisible image of the archetype. The next imprint is Jesus Christ,
in whom both the invisible and the visible are conflated in a
unique manner. Human beings constitute the next order of this
sequence of “imprints.” Man, having been imprinted with
Christ’s own image, has the potential, but also an obligation, to
strive for spiritual perfection. The last, fourth order of imprints
comprises man-made images. According to Clement, these are
farthest removed from the archetype and therefore from truth
itself. Clement’s hierarchic concept of the emanation and the
meaning of images laid the groundwork for future Christian
thinkers.
Issues inherent in these matters were still actively debated
during the 4th century by—among others—St. Athanasios of
Alexandria and St. Gregory of Nyssa. The process continued
through most of the 5th century, its final synthesis—so far as the
aesthetic principles in Byzantine art are concerned—taking place
about 500 in the work of an unknown author remembered only
as Pseudo-Dionysios the Areopagite. It is ironic that the
foundations of Byzantine aesthetic thinking, by virtue of an
historical fluke, are associated with the theoretical work of a
man whose name we do not know. Of marginal significance in
central theological disputes of his time, Pseudo-Dionysios was of
major importance on account of his sharpening of principles
that were to become the foundation stone of Byzantine as well as
Western medieval aesthetics. For Pseudo-Dionysios, the broadest
philosophical-religious category was the symbol (το σu’μβολον),
an overarching concept that included the meaning not only of
“picture,” “sign,” “representation,” and “beauty,” but also of the
human body and its parts (at times signifying spiritual or divine
powers)—and beyond these also—light, aroma, liturgical functions,
and, above all, the Eucharist. Thus, according to PseudoDionysios, the preeminent role of any symbol is in its inherent

slobodan c´urcˇ ic´

67

power to reveal and conceal simultaneously. “Absolute beauty,”
in his words, is not external but internalized, accessible only to
those capable of “spiritual seeing.” Furthermore, a symbol can
have multiple meanings that are revealed only by the context
within which it appears. Ultimately, it was Pseudo-Dionysios
who was responsible for the most extensive and most influential
formulation of the meaning of light (το φως). According to him,
light—like all other symbols—also has visible and invisible
aspects. It too exists on the borders of the earthly (physical) and
the divine (spiritual) spheres. Spiritual, or “divine,” light dwells
within pictures (εικo’νες) and is thus made accessible to those
humans capable of spiritual seeing. Beauty, according to PseudoDionysios, is an agent of light—“beauty shines”—while light
itself retains a broader and deeper spiritual meaning linked as it
is, according to him, with the good (το αγαθo’ν) or the life-giving
property of the divine.
Relying on the works of others preceding him, PseudoDionysios was able to sharpen the understanding of the meaning
of the icon. Following in the footsteps of St. Basil the Great and
his brother, Gregory of Nyssa, Pseudo-Dionysios formulated the
central idea of the icon as the will of God, the Incarnation being
the instrument of linking the heavenly and the earthly spheres
and making God visible (albeit partially) through the birth of
Jesus Christ. For Pseudo-Dionysios, the definition of the link
between the heavenly and earthly hierarchies was a matter of
utmost concern. So he perceived the manner of transmission of
divine information from God to man by the Holy Spirit along a
path of divine light, necessitating qualitative transformation of
the information bearer at a specific point. According to him, this
is a precisely defined borderline between the two spheres. At that
crucial junction, the bearer of the divine information from
“spiritual” (also defined as the lowest level of the heavenly
hierarchy) is transformed into “material form” (also defined as
the highest level of the earthly hierarchy). According to PseudoDionysios, there are two methods of representing spiritual beings:
as “corresponding” and “non-corresponding.” The correspond­ing
method reveals a positivistic approach and relies on the
isomorphic principles, in the tradition of ancient aesthetic
theory. As such—according to Pseudo-Dionysios—this method
is inferior in contrast to the antithetical, “non-corresponding”
method. That method, which he believed was diametrically
opposite to the ancient ideals, is essential in conveying the
spiritual essence. Though reminiscent of the “rule of contrasts”
known in ancient art theory, its application in PseudoDionysios’s work, needless to say, had a very different meaning
and objectives.
Byzantine art in its formative stages displayed shifts in
developmental directions not unlike those noted in the formative
stages of Late Antique philosophy and theology. However, it
would be impossible and methodologically unwise to try to
relate every shift in the development of art and architecture to
changes in contemporary theological thought. Furthermore,
Byzantine, unlike ancient Greek and Roman aesthetic principles,
were generated by theological teachings, but never coalesced
into a body of written theory. Their fruits are nonetheless evident

68

in various forms, ranging from Byzantine rhetorical descriptions
(ekphraseis) to the works of art themselves. The absence of
comprehensive aesthetic theory, however, made Byzantine art
generally inaccessible even to Christians who were not orthodox.
The 15th-century emergence of artistic theory in Renaissance
Italy signaled not only the revival of ancient art, but also the final
parting of ways with the Late Antique and Byzantine artistic
traditions. Among the aesthetic phenomena that reveal shifts
from the established aesthetic principles in art and architecture
of ancient Greece and Rome, the following three will be singled
out as being of major significance: abstraction, dematerialization,
and two-dimensionality.
Abstraction. In contrast to naturalism, the dominant
aesthetic principle of Greco-Roman antiquity, the art of Late
Antiquity increasingly relied on abstraction as an aesthetic
principle of choice. “Abstraction,” in this context, implies
predominantly a rejection of naturalistic conventions but also a
reliance on a range of symbols totally unrelated to the
representational framework of naturalism. However, strict rules
and principles that governed naturalistic expression—such as
similitude of forms, principles governing the design of
architectural orders, proportional relationships in architecture
and art, and relative scale in representation of different objects,
along with many other conventions compiled in theoretical
writings—were abandoned deliberately and replaced by
theological principles that never produced a coherent body of
new theory of either architecture or art. Symbols, for example,
became the basic elements of the new language of art, free of the
overriding principles of design, such as proportional relationships
of individual parts to the whole, scale relationships of different
objects, and so on. The process of reliance on naturalism declined
gradually, although certain of its aspects, used selectively, were
never entirely abandoned.
Often rendered on minuscule objects, the new principles
convey the breadth of audience they were intended to address.
One of the distinctive groups of such objects were lead flasks,
also known as ampullae, made for the purpose of containing

aesthetic shifts in late antique art: abstraction, dematerialization, and two-dimensionality

holy oil gathered at major Christian pilgrimage sites to be carried
home by visiting pilgrims. The main face of one such flask,
produced in the Holy Land in the 6th century, illustrates the
Crucifixion but uses predominantly symbolic language (fig. 1). A
small cross with even arms occupies the center of the composition,
and at the top is a bust of the bearded Christ with a cruciform halo.
This symbolic allusion to the Crucifixion is flanked by a naturalistic
rendition of the two crucified thieves. With the exception of the use
of symmetry, all other rules of classical art appear to have been
deliberately abandoned.
Dematerialization. One of the clearest manifestations of the
dramatically altered aesthetic principles of Late Antique
architecture and art is registered in the paradoxical effort of
denying “materiality” of form through the very material means
of the medium itself (e.g., sculpture). The means whereby this
was achieved varied, but the central principle involved in
accomplishing it was based on creating abstract patterns derived
from naturalistic forms. In architectural sculpture, for example,
this was facilitated by reducing the three-dimensionality of
forms to a minimum, through the use of drilling and undercutting.
The aesthetic result was the dematerialized lacelike effect made
in marble. The quality of daintiness thus achieved underscored
the notion of “spirituality” (the invisible), as opposed to
“physicality” (the visible) in art. An aspect of this process may
be understood by comparing three column capitals: from the
2nd, 5th, and 6th centuries. A 2nd-century Roman Corinthian
capital from Ostia displays all characteristics appropriated from
classical Greek Corinthian capitals (fig. 2a). Especially evident
are the stylized though naturalistically rendered acanthus leaves,
the hallmark of this capital type. The 5th-century capital from
the Basilica A at Philippi in Greece, illustrates the continuing
reliance on ancient Corinthian capital design (fig. 2b). The still
recognizable forms of acanthus leaves, a basic element of the
Corinthian capital, have here been subjected to a new level of
stylization that anticipates the forming of surface patterns,
which supersede a naturalistic representation of acanthus leaves.
Fully evident on a 6th-century column capital from Hagia Sophia
in Constantinople, these patterns take over virtually the entire
surface of the capital and its surrounding features (fig. 2c). The
deep drill work and the undercutting transform this capital and
the surrounding architectural features into lacelike surfaces that
visually deny their structural firmness. The new aesthetic
principles and technical virtuosity produce an illusion of
spiritualized weightlessness through the process of physical
dematerialization.
Two-dimensionality. The most ubiquitous and enduring
aesthetic shift in the art of Late Antiquity, and in the Byzantine
art that follows, was the virtual elimination of three-dimensional
in favor of two-dimensional representations. Intimately linked
with a frontal manner of viewing, this new artistic paradigm
became the clearest expression of theological tenets of the church
as manifested in Byzantine images of saints, although it was
employed in other contexts, such as representations of buildings
and cities.

One of the most dramatic manifestation of this phenomenon
occurred by the 6th century, when three-dimensional sculptures
ceased being made in the round, although the art of stone carving
itself had not died out. Three-dimensional representations
were reduced to two dimensions, whereas illusions of threedimensionality were used, albeit only selectively and sporadically
(fig. 3). Tied to the theologically favored frontal figurative or
non-figurative representations, the role of sculpture as a medium
thus became substantially curtailed in favor of the medium of
painting (fig. 4).
Nowhere was this more apparent than in the realm of
architectural representations. Single buildings, as well as repre­
sentations of complexes, even cities, were reduced to frontal
images depicted two-dimensionally. Visual communication of
spatial concepts (such as the use of perspective) disappeared,
along with the rigorous use of physical scale, reflecting the

theological tenet that divinity could neither be represented nor
contained and therefore lacked physical properties characteristic
of classical naturalistic visual representations. By the end of the
5th century, this approach became virtually exclusive and was
used in all media. Monumental wall mosaic representations, such
as the representation of the “Palace of Theodoric” on the south
nave wall of the church of S. Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna,
demonstrates the described characteristics of two-dimensional
representations at their best (fig. 5). The flattened-out view of the
Ostrogothic ruler’s palace, identifiable by its label, “Palatium,”
displays many ambiguities as far as modern perception of
architecture is concerned. Is this a view of the entrance into the
palace, or is it a view of the interior of its main hall? Shown next
to the palace is the city gate. Should this be understood as an
indicator of the actual physical position of the palace relative to
the city wall? Behind the palace, one sees a number of city’s

aesthetic shifts in late antique art: abstraction, dematerialization, and two-dimensionality

major buildings, basilicas, and domed structures, with a faint
trace of the enclosing city wall in the background. Lacking an
accurate sense of scale, the views of the palace and the city have
been compressed here into a two-dimensional symbol, whose
physical presence on the wall of a church in Ravenna commissioned
by Theodoric is the only clue as to the identity of what is represented.
Theodoric’s ambition of emulating the imperial capital
Constantinople with the imperial palace within its walls suggests
that the great prototype may have had a similar appearance,
although no physical clues actually survive to confirm such a
notion. The story of Theodoric and that of the art of
contemporary Ravenna are among the finest testimonies of Late
Antique art, which had undergone dramatic aesthetic shifts in its
visual syntax, but not in its vocabulary. By 500 the main new
aesthetic principles of Christian art were fully in place, though
they never became verbally codified.

Conserved and set on new backing. Extensive damage to the righthand part; some minor damage to center and lower left side.
The rectangular fragment of mosaic has one semicircular
narrow side and is part of a larger composition, as can be seen
from traces of a band of red and a band of polychrome simple
guilloche on a black ground, which runs across the lower part.
The panel is bounded by a wave pattern, red on a white
ground, within a narrow green band, and a succession of ochrecolored tesserae. In the center, set against a white ground, is a
life-size standing figure of a woman with her head turned to the
left in three-quarter profile and her body twisting in an airy,
dancing movement.
She is wearing a full-length tunic, gold with gleaming white
spangles and mauve outlines; a gray himation with green folds
and black outlines; and short, red boots. On her head she wears
a wreath of olive or laurel leaves and in her ears pendant earrings
with pairs of pearls. Her right arm is bent at the elbow, and in
her upturned hand she holds a bunch of grapes; the fold created
in her himation by the way she is holding one end of it in her
raised left hand is full of fruit: grapes, figs, a pomegranate, a
pear, an apple, and either an orange or a peach. The use of darkcolored tesserae, as well as the frame and the way the tesserae

74

used for the ground are set in slanting, radiating rows in the
upper part of the panel, creates a trompe-l’oeil concave surface,
indicating that the figure is standing in a niche. The rendering of
the movement and certain details, along with the skillful
handling of graduated tones and shades of color, such as the
contrasts between warm and cold hues, attest to the artistry of
the craftsman.
The report of the excavation remains unpublished
(Assimakopoulou-Atzaka 1987, 54, n. 9), which makes dating
problematic. Stylistic analysis and comparison with other
mosaics from Argos and, more particularly, with the Dionysiac
thiasos from the Bonoris’s plot (Kritzas 1973–74, 230–42, pls.
160, 161) suggest the mosaic was created in the 4th century.
The figure’s draperies and the fruits she holds are
characteristic features for a depiction of the personification of
Autumn (Parrish 1984, 38–40; Abad Casal 1990, 513).
This type of image is in the same category as the series of
depictions of the Horae, which maintain a dancing pose and
appear alone or forming a frieze (Abad Casal 1990, 513–15, nos.
15–40; Hanfmann 1951, nos. 115–130). The type is often found
in wall paintings at Pompeii (Abad Casal 1990, nos. 15–25) or in
sculpture of the 1st or 2nd century (Abad Casal 1990, nos.
35–37). It is less common in mosaics, although there are wellknown examples ranging from the mid-2nd to mid-3rd century
(Abad Casal 1990, nos. 28–31). In mosaics from Greece there is
a full-length depiction of the Seasons at Knossos (Gough 1972,
627, pl. 587 α, γ), although there they are depicted in the form of
caryatids. In the Argos area we know of another mosaic with a
depiction of the Seasons. The personification of Autumn,
depicted in a square panel and inscribed ΜΕΘΟ/ΠΟΡΟ, takes
the form of a young man, shown bust length and crowned with
an elaborate wreath of fruits (Assimakopoulou-Atzaka 1987,
no. 8, 56–58, pls. 38–45β).
The subject of the Seasons is most developed in the 2nd
century. After the mid-2nd century, they are frequently depicted
on mosaics in Italy from whence the theme was transposed to
the mosaics of the eastern Roman Empire and of North Africa.
However, the subject continued to be popular in the early
Christian period, too (Markoulaki 1987, 55–56). Autumn, the
season of the grape harvest, was thought of in many respects as
the most propitious and fruitful season. The Seasons symbolize
the continual renewal of nature and its fruitfulness, which can
be converted into material wealth. In this respect, they are the
expression of temporum felicitas (the felicity of the times), an
idea that reflects imperial propaganda from as early as the time
of the Severan emperors. The Seasons were consequently
considered symbols of good fortune, and depicting them was
thought to bring good luck and material wealth to the building
thus decorated (Kiillerich 1998, 25–27, 31).
A. Panagiotopoulou
Bibliography
Hanfmann 1951; Gough 1972; Kritzas 1973–74; Parrish 1984;
Assimakopoulou-Atzaka 1987; Markoulaki 1987; Abad Casal 1990;
Kiillerich 1998.

2a–g.
This unique collection of sculptures was found in a large
urban domus located close to the forum of Corinth. They
came from a small room, which, to judge from the painted
decoration on its walls, may have been a household shrine
rather than a place for storage. The house was built early in
the 4th century and burned down toward the end of the
same century. Several pieces in the collection, such as the
two figures of Asklepios, the Herakles (not on display), and
the Europa, reflect aspects of divinities relevant to the
immediate region, whereas the Roma and the Herakles also
refer to the capital. Although several pieces were antiques,
the Roma, the larger Artemis, and the larger Asklepios may
have been new acquisitions. The Roma and the larger
Asklepios appear to be miniatures of cult images.
The 4th century is the beginning of a period of transition
between antiquity and the medieval world and between the
worship of Hellenic deities and Christianity. This process in
Corinth, the capital of Achaia, seems to have lasted well into
the 6th century, when large basilica churches, with generous
space for catechumens and large baptisteries, were constructed.
The Hellenic deities represented in the domus reflect the
religious preferences of a wealthy Corinthian household in a
period when the administration was increasingly prohibitive
of such things.
G. Sanders

Single fragment, complete head, most of neck; top of hair and
top-knot burned.
Roughly one-third life-size head of a female, head pulled to
right and turned back. Long hair, bound by plain fillet, pulled
back from face in wavy locks, rendered by parallel wavy incised
lines over crown, folded into a chignon at back of head with hair
hanging down below this, and in a top knot above forehead.
Oval face with low sloping brow, long incised eyebrow with eye
set just below brow. Long incised line articulating upper lid,
grooves surrounding ball, deep drill hole at inner corners. Straight
nose flaring at tip. Small pursed mouth with lips separated by
drilled channel and drilled corners. Round chin, tips of ears
projecting below hair, round neck with Venus-ring at lower break.
All skin surfaces polished. Red adhesive for gilding of hair,
spots of which are preserved, leaving a reserve band for the fillet.
Eyebrows and irises also have red adhesive.
This head of Artemis is one of ten fragments preserved of
the original statuette. These include the base, both feet, the left
leg, the lower arms, and pieces of drapery and indicate that she
is an Artemis of the Rospigliosi type, similar to a smaller Artemis
(not on display) in the same assemblage. A curving strut on the
right arm suggests that Artemis may have been portrayed with
both arms outstretched holding a bow and arrow. Both hands
are held in fists with holes through them for these attributes. It
probably resembled a late 4th-century statuette of Diana found
in the Roman villa of Petit-Corbin at Saint-Georges-de-Montagne
in the Gironde, France. A Diana from the sanctuary of Jupiter
Doliochenus on the Aventine has a similar configuration.
G. Sanders
Bibliography
LIMC II, 1984, 838, no. 338, pls. 621 and 850, no. 376, pl. 625, s.v.
Artemis / Diana [E. Simon and G. Bauchhenss]; Sanders 2005, 420 –29;
Stirling 2005, 31–34, figs. 4–7; Stirling 2008, 30 –31, 113–19, figs. 1, 17–19.

75

2b. Statuette of Asklepios and Telesphoros
3rd or 4th century
Athenian workshop
Marble
H. 0.207 m., h. of figure 0.189 m.
From the Panagia Field domus, Ancient Corinth
Ancient Corinth, Archaeological Museum of Ancient
Corinth, S-1999-012
Six joining fragments, complete except for right lower arm, staff,
possible support by right side. Some surfaces blackened by fire.
Small statuette of Asklepios standing with weight on left
leg, right bent but foot on same plane as left foot. Head and
upper torso twisted somewhat to right, arms at side, left bent.
Wears a thick fillet with diagonal incisions around head. Hair
neck-length, with thick curly locks framing face down to below
ears; over crown, central incised part with cross lines for locks.
Low sloping brow with incised line, horizontal shallow-set eyes,
short nose, mouth framed by moustache and short beard; single
long lock or tail of fillet falls over either shoulder. Semi-draped
in a cloak that hangs vertically from left shoulder to cover left
arm, wrapped around torso just below pectorals, twisted and
gathered hem passed over left arm (not rendered) with cloth
falling down left side in a series of stacked V-shaped folds. Over
rest of body series of stacked V-shaped folds over abdomen,
longer folds from left side to right knee and ankle. Slender,
knotted staff tucked under Asklepios’s right shoulder and resting
on the ground by his right foot with coils of snake wrapped
around lower part. The hair and beard have red pigment with
traces of preserved gilding. Standing beside Asklepios is baby
Telesphoros, frontal with both arms bent, wearing a mantle over
head and covering whole body; two columns of folds generated
from his two bent arms. Plinth has vertical faces, curved across
front, flaring on right side, straight on back, left side.
A separate, non-joining fragment of the statuette preserves
the right hand of Asklepios holding an egg and the head of the
snake. The two-dimensionality, flat surfaces, and surface treat­
ment are all suggestive of Roman and late Roman ivory carving.
The pose is a version of the Asklepios Giustini attested in several
other examples at Corinth. When Telesphoros accompanies
Asklepios, the latter is frequently portrayed in this pose. This
version of the Asklepios Giustini emerged in the second half of
the 2nd century and is typically found in the eastern
Mediterranean.
G. Sanders
Bibliography
Grimm 1989, 170; Sirano 1994, 218; Sanders 2005, 420–29; Stirling
2008, 122–26, figs. 1, 23–25.

2c. S tatuette of Asklepios Enthroned
Second half 2nd century
Athenian workshop
Marble
H. 0.423 m., h. of figure 0.348 m.
From the Panagia Field domus, Ancient Corinth
Ancient Corinth, Archaeological Museum of Ancient
Corinth, S-1999-008
Numerous joining fragments: figure complete except right hand,
left forearm, hand; throne: missing most of back left leg, small
parts front legs, cross straps of seat; upper part of snake and head
missing.
Asklepios is seated on throne, leaning forward with his head
turned slightly to proper right; right arm down, forearm diagonal,
left arm raised; left foot pulled back and turned slightly out.
Asklepios wears plain round wreath; hair parted in middle with
short curls to either side, lengthening around face with longish
curls to shoulders; has mustache and curly beard; himation
hangs vertically from left shoulder and upper arm with zigzag
border and V-shaped folds; crosses back, and pulled over legs,
tucked in under left leg, from which a fall of two zigzag folds;
overlap folds gathered in groups with deep drill channels
separating groups; folds pulled from left knee to right lower leg.
He wears elaborate network sandals that tie above ankle. Feet
rest on large footstool with squat animal feet and central groove,
top rasped. High-backed throne, back face incised in squares,
has projecting wings, elaborate lyre-shaped legs with three
groups of double volutes; figure seated on cushion. A square
base supports throne, with moldings at bottom and top; fascia,
quarter round, surface rasped. Large snake coiled against right
side of throne, head originally under Asklepios’s right hand.
Base is rectangular, profile; high fascia at top, bottom, narrow;
fasciae framing concave channel on three sides, back flat; rasp
and flat chisel on top, flat on sides. Drill outlines Asklepios’s
torso on seat. Figure highly polished. Red adhesive for gilding
preserved on hair, fillet reserved, mustache and beard, pupils;
borders of himation; outline on volutes of throne and snake.
Asklepios enthroned is often considered to represent the
chryselephantine cult image of the god made by Thrasymedes of
Paros for the temple at Epidauros described by Pausanias
(2.27.2). An Epidaurian coin of the second half of the 4th century
bc is thought to represent this statue, which, like the Panagia
statuette, shows the god holding a staff in his left arm and
reaching out with his right hand to a coiled snake. The white
marble and gilded surfaces of the Panagia statuette are suggestive
of an ivory and gold prototype, and it may well be a “copy” of
the image nearby at Epidauros. Indeed, both the design of the
throne and its palmette decoration resemble the throne types
commonly represented in the 5th and 4th centuries bc; see, for
instance, the decorated legs of a 4th-century bc throne from a
chamber tomb at Eretria. The profile of Asklepios in a relief at
Epidauros shows the god seated in a throne with a profile and
back similar to the Corinth statuette.
G. Sanders

2d. Statuette of Roma
Mid-3rd century or later
Athenian workshop
Marble
H. 0.592 m., h. of figure 0.542 m.
From the Panagia Field domus, Ancient Corinth
Ancient Corinth, Archaeological Museum of Ancient
Corinth, S-1999-007
Many joining fragments, essentially complete; missing several
details. Left wrist badly burned.
Statuette, about one-third life-size, of a seated figure, head
turned slightly to left, right foot turned out slightly, left foot
pulled back, right arm down and out, palm tilted and open, left
arm out and raised to height of helmet. Wears Corinthian helmet
with triple crest, each a plain brush with groove down top,
central crest higher than rest; cheek pieces up. Long wavy locks
pulled back from face, curly locks over either shoulder. Face
asymmetrical, left half flatted with rounded outline; oval with
low brow, long incised eyebrow, close-set eyes with groove
beneath brow, groove separating both lids from ball, drill at
inner corner. Drilled nostrils, small bow-shaped mouth, drilled
corners. Semi-draped with peplos with long overfold, pinned at
left shoulder, right breast bare; unpinned part gathered between
breasts and draped around right side; tied below breasts, covers
right leg to above ankle, left leg bare. Over this a mantle hangs
over left shoulder in front, falling in back in mass of stacked
V-folds down left side, catenaries across back, pulled across lap
in front, and hanging in a mass of zigzag folds between legs.
Wears boots with roll at top. Baldric hanging from right shoulder,
sword at left side. Sits on stool with plump pillow, four animal
legs; heavy rectangular support under seat. Rectangular base with
narrow fascia at bottom, top, and broad concave channel in
center, on three faces; back smooth. Drapery has flattened and
tubular folds, incised creases, drilled channels. Rectangular strut
from right hand to stool, left wrist to shoulder. Drilled hole in
right palm where metal(?) patera originally attached.
Whole surface polished. Red adhesive for gold leaf, of which
traces are still visible, on hair, eyebrows, pupil, drapery borders.
This image of Roma is typical of her portrayal on coinage of
the eastern provinces of the empire. She resembles Athena
Parthenos, but her clothing identifies her as belonging to the
“draped Amazon Roma” type wearing a hunting chiton and high
boots with one breast exposed. In sculpture, this type is more
typical of the western Roman provinces and appears only at
Aphrodisias, Corinth, and perhaps Nikopolis in the east. A seated
female in Amazonian dress from the pediment of Temple E (Temple
of Octavia?) at Corinth is also thought to represent Roma.

Mid-3rd century or later
Athenian workshop
Marble
H. 0.341 m.
From the Panagia Field domus, Ancient Corinth
Ancient Corinth, Archaeological Museum of Ancient
Corinth, S-1999-011
Numerous joining fragments. Complete except for right arm
below deltoid, left elbow, most of left hand, muzzle of panther
and chips.
Statuette of Dionysos, standing with weight on left leg, left
hip thrust out, right leg flexed, foot back and turned out 45
degrees, heel raised. Head turned three-quarters right, shoulders
level, right arm at side, left resting on tree support, with hand
flexed. Long hair pulled back into a knot at nape of neck, bound
by strophion, with large wavy clumps (wreath?) framing face;
long lock hanging over and along either shoulder. Heart-shaped
face with broad low forehead, sharp brows, long narrow,
horizontal eyes with very heavy upper lids, straight nose, flaring
nostrils, small mouth tilted up to right, with lips together,
pointed chin. Soft youthful body, nude except for painted fawn
skin (nebris), sloping shoulders, chest thrown forward, small
pectorals, long slender legs. Wears half-boots with folded flaps,
toes exposed; rectangular strut at top of right hip and thigh to
anchor right arm and hand. The left forearm rests on tree
covered with drapery and a clump of grapes and ivy at mid-height
all painted red. The missing upper right arm hung apart and
parallel to the body. In his right hand Dionysos holds a kantharos
from which he pours wine. To the right a crouching panther
with right foreleg raised, head tilted up, ill-defined hindquarters.
Plinth roughly rectangular, thicker at back than front; top
roughly picked, front worked with rasp, sides with point, back
with long oblique strokes of point. Dionysos’s skin lightly
polished; drill in corners of eyes, ear, behind long locks, outlining
features on tree, and separating forelegs from background; flat
chisel on tree. Dionysos wears a red painted fawn skin diagonally
from right shoulder across chest to waist with legs of skin
hanging down over hips. Red paint in hair.
This languorous Dionysos does not conform to any
particular type in the large and varied iconography of the god,
although aspects have parallels in other representations.
Dionysos also has no known special association with Corinth,
although Pausanias mentions two gilded wooden statues of him
in the forum.
G. Sanders
Bibliography
LIMC III, 1986, 435–36, nos. 119–124; Sanders 2005, 420–29; Stirling
2008, 119–22, figs. 1, 20–22.

2f. S tatuette of Pan
2nd century (?)
Athenian workshop
Marble
H. 0.144 m.
From the Panagia Field domus, Ancient Corinth
Ancient Corinth, Archaeological Museum of Ancient
Corinth, S-1999-014
Head intact except for very tip of nose. Surface heavily blackened.
Crack through bridge of nose to left side of head. Chip in chin.
Head of youthful male turned sharply to right and possibly
tilted down somewhat. Hair short with central part, loose curls
curling back from forehead or down, vestigial fillet circling head
and indenting hair, short flatter curling locks over crown and
back of head, separated by drill channels. Two protuberances
project from above center of forehead (horns?). Triangular
forehead with pronounced crease, projecting brows, deep-set
large eyes with heavy upper and thin lower lids, small drilled
hole at inner corners; straight nose with flaring nostrils; short,
dimpled upper lip, lips parted by drill channel, deep dimple
below lower lip, pronounced chin; high-boned cheeks, flattening
toward mouth; ears partly covered by hair, summarily rendered.
Short neck with Adam’s apple, curving out to finished edge;
head originally socketed into torso; sides and underside of tenon
worked with point. Coarse rasp work on underside of chin and
side of neck.

right knee to left breast; second long fold falls vertically from
side of left breast to hem; mass of folds gathered over left
forearm to fall on either side of arm to nearly feet. She wears her
hair parted in the middle with wavy locks descending to ears,
mass of bun indicated under mantle at rear. A few incised lines
to indicate strands. Oval face, low triangular forehead, brow
ridge straight, eyes horizontal and shallow, straight nose, small
mouth. Plinth: use of drill to create deep space between sides of
face and veil, also possibly for folds of veil, corners of mouth.
Surfaces of plinth lightly polished.
The identification of this figure as Europa is suggested by a
statuette of the same type in New York with the inscription
ΕΥΡΩΠΗ on the base (ΜΜΑ 24.97.31). Otherwise this type has
been thought to portray Aspasia, the mistress of Perikles and,
more recently, Hera, Aphrodite Sossandra, Penelope, or Hestia.
The protype for the type dates to the second quarter of the 5th
century bc. It is a common subject in Roman sculpture with
more than thirty known examples, including three others at
Corinth. Although Europa is popularly associated with Crete,
she also has strong Peloponnesian links as, according to Praxilla
of Sikyon, the mother of Karneios. East of Corinth there is a
district which in antiquity and still today is called Kraneion (the
transposition of the “r” for the “a” in its spelling is not an unusual
one). Furthermore, Europa is associated with the Helloteia, a
festival for Hellotis, who was a daughter of King Timander of
Corinth.
G. Sanders

2g. Statuette of Europa
1st or early 2nd century
Athenian workshop
Marble
H. 0.345 m., h. of figure 0.314 m.
From the Panagia Field domus, Ancient Corinth
Ancient Corinth, Archaeological Museum of Ancient
Corinth, S-1999-004
Three joining fragments. Missing the left hand and some chips.
Statuette of veiled female who stands with weight on left
leg, right bent, foot extended and turned out slightly; head
turned three-quarters to left, left arm bent, forearm extended
three-quarters to side, right arm originally folded against breast.
Wears a chiton, fine folds of which visible over ankles and feet,
falling to plinth; over this a long mantle pulled up to cover top
of head and body to above ankles. Mantle pulled around right
side to cover arm completely, free end then thrown over left
shoulder and arm, falling down to area of buttocks in a series of
parallel V-shaped folds generated by bent elbow, and gathered
hem in back. A long V-shaped fold extends from right elbow to

Further indications of a pagan chthonic cult being practiced
in the house come from the re-use of some 4th-century bc reliefs in
its easternmost room: a small Κybele in her shrine (naiskos), and
a relief of a chthonic deity imbedded in a niche above a funerary
table with a relief depiction of assembled philosophers on one
side, probably used in this case as an altar, have led to the room
being interpreted either as a house shrine for the worship of the
Mother of the Gods (Kybele) or as a place for performing rites
in memory of dead philosophers.
The sacrifice of the pig could be connected with the cult of
Kybele, who at that late period seems to be connected to
Demeter, as attested in the hymn to the Mother of the Gods,
written in the 4th century by the emperor and Neoplatonic
philosopher Julian and also by two taurobolic altars of the same
period on which the two deities appear side by side. Proklos
himself—as we know from his successor and biographer
Marinos—prayed particularly frequently to the Mother of the
Gods and never failed to purify himself every month in
accordance with the practices of her cult.
The dating of the find to the early 6th century allows us to
assume a possible connection between this sacrifice and the
events that followed the closing of the philosophy schools in
Athens (Hällström 1994, 141–60) after Justinian’s well-known
edict of 529, most probably the flight of the seven teachers of the
Neoplatonic School to Persia.
I. Karra
* No precise parallels for the goblet have been found in the literature.
However similar goblets have been discovered in the excavations for
the new Akropolis Museum on the Makygianni site, all in a 6th-

This find contained several elements: a) an unused, late
5th-century Attic lamp imitating an Asia Minor type with a
depiction of a winged eros (Karivieri 1994; Karivieri 1996);
b) seven identical 6th-century two-handled goblets, of which
one* is on display; c) an early 6th-century one-handled jug
(Agora V, 1959; Manoli 2010); d) an iron knife; part of a dish,
and the bones of a year-old piglet.
The remains of the sacrifice were found buried in a small pit
in the westernmost room of a luxurious Late Antique residence,
which has been identified as the home and school premises of the
philosopher Proklos, head of the Neoplatonic school of Athens
between 437 and 485, and his successors.
The sacrifice was stabbed and its blood was presumably
allowed to flow for the gods. With the sacrificial knife still in its
neck, the pig was buried in the earth, together with the vessels
and probably the remains of some sacred meal with seven
symposiasts, as suggested by the seven goblets.
The depositing of the sacrificial animal in the earth recalls
the offerings of pigs to Demeter during the Thesmophoria
festivals, while the use of its blood in purification rituals was
intended to produce a mystical connection between initiate and
deity. The pig was considered a suitable animal for sacrifice to
the chthonic gods by the Neoplatonists too, as they believed that
by its very nature it belonged wholly to the earth.

and prepares to strike it with his club. The doomed monster
wraps its tail around his left ankle. Variation in the patina
around the edge of the plaque suggests that it once was framed
in some manner, almost certainly as part of a set of the Twelve
Labors. The setting could have been anything from a chair to a
chariot.
Even after Constantine made Christianity the official state
religion of the empire, worship of the pagan gods persisted for
decades, and the fame of such legendary heroes as Herakles,
though diminished, never entirely faded. Reverence for Herakles
was especially persistent, for like Christ, he overcame death
itself and ascended to heaven to sit at the side of his father.
J. M. Padgett
Bibliography
Weitzmann 1973, 6, 12, 24, 31, fig. 48; Shelton 1977, 160– 61, no. 137;
Cˇurcˇic´ – St. Clair 1986, 69, no. 43, color plate B; Swan 2010, 37–38, fig. 9.

Pieces missing from the left side and upper right corner. Some
loss of inlays. Mottled corrosion.
On this extraordinary plaque, Herakles is represented
performing the second of his Twelve Labors, killing the Hydra,
a gigantic, multiheaded serpent. The figures are inlaid in different
metals to achieve a polychrome effect, a rare Roman technique
that found its greatest expression in the 4th century; a plaque of
this type in the Louvre (MNC 1012), of similar date, shape, and
size, features a victorious charioteer. Herakles’ body is inlaid in
reddish copper; the skin of the Nemean lion, which he wears as
a hooded cloak, is in brass. His club is of silver, as are the heads
of the Hydra and some of the incised modeling lines. The
monster’s body is inlaid with alternating bands of silver, copper,
and a black material that is not true niello, as it contains no
sulfur. The colors add vigor to an already dynamic compo­sition,
with Herakles propping a knee on the Hydra’s writhing body, a
stance that, as Kathleen Shelton has noted, is borrowed from
standard depictions of the hero’s battle with the Keryneian hind.
Amid snapping fangs, Herakles seizes one of the Hydra’s heads

The altar has survived intact, but has some chips on the upper
edges. The little lions that were once at the four corners of the
upper part are also missing. In the middle of the upper part there is
a deep hole in which a torch was set. There are reliefs on three
sides.

On one side, under a festoon with bucrania (ox skulls),
Kybele and Demeter are depicted seated on a throne. The former
is holding a bowl and a drum. In her left hand Demeter is holding
a scepter, around which is coiled a snake, and in her right hand
she holds ears of corn. Between the goddesses is a lion. A man
wearing a short chiton and a chlamys and holding a lighted
torch stands next to Demeter. To the left of Kybele stands a
young woman dressed in a tunic and himation; she carries two
inverted torches. According to one view, the standing woman is
Kore (Persephone) and the man is Iacchos (Dionysos).
On the second side Kybele, wearing a polos headdress, is
seated on a throne. Next to her a lion cub is turning its head to
look behind it. In her left hand Kybele holds a drum, and she
leans her right hand on the shoulder of Attis, who turns his head
toward the goddess. He wears a chiton and a chlamys with the
characteristic Phrygian pilos on his head. The figures are flanked
by two palm trees, and some sort of hanging is draped over their
heads. Leaning against the body of the palm tree on the left is a
drum, and higher up hangs a pipe; two castanets are suspended
from the bird on the right.
On the third side, two crossed torches are depicted with
two palm trees and various symbols (e.g., an oinochoe, a phiale,
a drum) at the outer edges. On the fourth side of the altar, there
is a carved inscription, from which we learn that the monument
was an offering from the priest Mousonios, after the festival of
Taurobolium (ritual sacrifice of a bull) performed in Athens
under the archon Hermogenes. On the basis of the inscription
the altar is dated to the late 4th century (386–87).
There is another such altar in the National Archaeological
Museum (in Athens) with similar scenes but with different facts
in the inscription. Both altars are linked with the eastern
(Phrygian) provenance of the cult of the Great Goddess, Kybele,
and Attis, and more particularly with the arcane festival of the
Taurobolium. This festival, which is also an example of religious
and cult syncretism in the Late Antique period, was made official
by the emperor Claudius and seems to have survived into the 4th
century.
N. Kaltsas
Bibliography
Svoronos 1911, 474–84, pl. 80; Vermaseren 1982, 117, no. 390,
pls. 120 –122; Stavridi 1984, 189–90; Kaltsas 2002, 368–69.

Preserved intact.
Shaped like a miniature temple (naiskos) with antae,
epistyle, and crowned with a pediment. The pediment has
stylized, palmette-shaped acroteria and a cylindrical box with a
conical lid carved in relief on the tympanum.
Two figures are depicted in the naiskos. On the left is a
man, frontal and standing, dressed in a chiton with a long hima­
tion that covers his whole body and his arms. His left arm is at
his side, while the right, bent at the elbow, is across his chest.
On the right a woman, also frontal and standing, her head
slightly turned to the right, is wearing a long, ankle-length tunic
with a voluminous himation, the ends of which are gathered up
at her chest and tied between her two breasts to form the
characteristic knot of Isis. Her left hand, at her side, holds a
small jar, and in her raised right hand she holds a rattle. Both are
symbols of the Egyptian goddess Isis and features of her cult.
Consequently, the figure is depicted as a priestess of Isis. From
the inscription carved on the epistyle we learn that the stele

81

belonged to a couple: Epigonos, son of Apollonios from Koile,
and Elate, daughter of Menodoros from the deme of Berneikidae.
The depiction of Elate as a priestess of Isis is one of many
that exist on Attic grave steles (there are about sixty-five known
to date). Thus, the active participation of women in this public
religious function is made known. The office of priestess was the
only public role women could take on, and it was a symbol of
social distinction. In the Roman period, women born of
important Athenian families took part in public life as priestesses
or their acolytes.
N. Kaltsas
Bibliography
Conze 1922, 57, no. 1962, pl. 422; Muehsam 1952, 67, 72, 104, 105;
Walters 1988, 7, 20, 29, 38, 52, 76–77, pl. 24d; von Moock 1998, 6, 27,
84–85, 135 no. 266, pl. 41b; Karapanagiotou 2001, 369, no. 324.

Mithras originated as the Zoroastrian sun god and became
the preferred deity of a mystery cult that was formed in Rome in
the 1st century. The cult became quite popular throughout the
Roman Empire, especially among soldiers, although it died out
in the 4th century. Cult images of Mithras depict the god slaying
a bull. At Dura Europos, a 2nd-century relief of the tauroctony
(bull-slaying) was placed in the niche as the focus of worship
and was surrounded by narrative paintings. The banqueting
scene was profoundly important to the cult, as the communal
feast was its central ritual. According to myth, after Mithras had
slain the bull, he and the sun god Sol feasted on the animal.
Animal bones found at the site suggest that there may have been
some kind of ritual reenactment of this narrative. The Mithraeum
was originally part of a house that was converted for use by the
mystery cult in the 2nd century. This scene was part of the
second phase of decoration in the early 3rd century and was
covered by architecture in a later renovation.
K. Marsengill
Bibliography
The Dark Ages 1937, no. 22; Rostovtzeff et al. 1939, 102–3, pl. xiii, 3;
Early Christian Art 1947, 134, no. 687, pl. lxxxvi; Cumont 1975, 177.

These are some of the fragmentary remains of a much larger
program. The fresco depicts the gods Mithras and Sol reclining
on cushions next to one another at a banquet. Mithras, at the
right, holds a drinking horn called a rhyton with his left hand
and places his right hand behind Sol. Both are shown with short,
curly hair and have similar features with an emphasis on their
large eyes. They both wear identical Persian-style dress: tunics
with elaborate designs, gemmed collars, and cloaks draped over
their shoulders and clasped with circular brooches. Mithras
wears a conical Phrygian cap, whereas Sol’s head is encircled by
a nimbus.

Complete, missing some chips.
This is an impost capital for a compound pier or column.
The rounded column capital is decorated with three sharply
carved acanthus leaves. The beveled pier capital is decorated
with a menorah with a low stand in relief, flanked on either side
by a menorah with disk stand, a palm branch, and a citron.

Although the seven-branched candelabrum is found in Christian
contexts, sometimes with a palm branch, the combination of
candelabrum (menorah), palm branch (lulab), and citron (etrog)
is wholly Jewish. Imposts such as this, with a rectangular upper
surface, generally crowned a vertical window divider and acted
as the springer for an arched double or triple window aperture.
This particular piece almost certainly came from the window of
a Synagogue. The etrog is a citron held in the left hand during
the Sukkot (Feast of the Tabernacle). The lulab is fashioned
from sprigs of myrtle and willow bound to the stem of a palm
branch and is held in the right hand. During the recital of the
Hallel (Psalms 113–18), the lulab is shaken toward the cardinal
points of the compass, up and down, forward and backward.
G. Sanders
Bibliography
Scranton 1957, 116, no. 130, pl. 30.

In good condition, apart from the break at the tip of the nose
and on part of the left-hand side of the bust at the back. The
integral, cylindrical base is only partly worked. On the hollow
back of the bust, which has been crudely worked, is a vertical
tenon. The bust includes the subject’s shoulders and chest and is
almost semicircular at the bottom. The man wears only a
himation, which falls in folds, covering his left side and leaving
the chest and right shoulder bare.
The subject is a bearded man of mature years who is turning
his head to the left. His face is long and thin, and the head shows
advanced signs of baldness with hair growing only at the back.
Flame-shaped locks adorn his temples, whereas the hair of his
beard is finer and longer. The deep wrinkles on the forehead, the
large, deep-set eyes, and the flabby skin on the cheeks betray his
age. His facial features, the mild, contemplative expression on
his face, and his mode of dress place the piece in a series of
portrait sculptures from the first half of the 3rd century, which
come mainly from Rome or thereabouts and depict various
intellectuals or “philosophers.”
Portraits of the late classical and Hellenistic periods depict
intellectuals according to a particular model known as αχi’των εν
ιματi’ω (wearing a himation without a tunic or chiton), with a
wrinkled forehead, a beard, and a contemplative expression.
The corresponding images of thinkers of the mid-empire,
sometimes shown holding a scroll, may not necessarily depict
professional philosophers, but rather members of the upper
classes of their local communities, usually cultivated men who
could thus emphasize their education. So it is likely that the
portrait bust from Thessaloniki depicts some specific member of
the local elite.
K. Tzanavari
Bibliography
Zanker 1995, 209ff.; Hoff 1996, 43–47; Schefold 1997; Danguillier 2001,
55–58, 249, no. 128, figs. 18–20; Voutiras 2001; Catalogue ΙΙ, 200–201,
no. 297, figs. 928–32 [E. Voutiras].

expression, however, could equally well suit a priest. For this
reason, the notion that this particular figure depicts Plutarch
from Chaironeia, a curator and priest of Apollo at Delphi in the
2nd century, has been almost universally accepted. Thanks to
his writings we have learned important details about the
sanctuary at Delphi and its oracle-giving procedure. Nevertheless,
this identification cannot be confirmed, as no corresponding
inscription has survived. By contrast another herm (headless,
made of Pentelic marble, also on display in the Delphi Museum,
inv. no. 4070), did bear a portrait of Plutarch and an informative
dedicatory inscription (in elegaic couplets) on the body of the
stele. These two finds are not related. For lack of written
evidence, we can only surmise that the marble bust was a
portrait of some Neoplatonic philosopher, as Frederik Poulsen
interpreted it.
E. C. Partida
Bibliography
Poulsen 1928, 245–55; Bergmann 1977, 87–88; Croissant 1991, 135–36;
Lefèvre 2002, no. 151; Partida 2004, 86.

Preserved in excellent condition, apart from the chipped nose.
The identity of the pensive, bearded man has been much
deliberated by scholars: might some famous personage from
Late Antiquity one day be recognized in it? The anonymous
sculptor has shown his twofold talent in carving the white Parian
marble, alternating the smooth, shiny, almost alabaster-like
surfaces of the face and the neck with the plasticity of the short,
well-groomed hair, which is combed in various directions and
the beard with its wavy locks. Basing their judgment on the
treatment of the marble, the rendering of the iris, and the shaping
of the hair, scholars have dated the bust to between the end of
the 2nd century and the second half of the 3rd. Despite the fact
that the bust has been compared with portraits of Greek
magistrates and Roman emperors (it has been thought to
resemble Gallienus in particular), the contemplative expression
and the meticulously groomed hair are more reminiscent of the
iconography of philosophers. More especially the long, thick
beard (πω’γων βαθu’ς) characterizes the adherents of the
Neoplatonic school. It is therefore possible that we are
confronting a bust of Plotinos. His sweet, thoughtful expression
conveys a sense of futility, and his gaze does not look the viewer
in the eye. By contrast, the man appears to be immersed in his
thoughts, like a poet or an intellectual. The spirituality of the

Parts of the nose and ears and the base of the bust, which was
made out of a separate piece of marble, are missing. The front
surface is polished, and vertical tenons are found on the hollow
back. The bust depicts a man of mature years with a long
beard and his hair combed over from back to front, framing
the forehead and the temples. In the facial features the large
eyes and deep wrinkles predominate. He wears a tunica, a
second lighter-weight chiton and toga, part of which was worn
across the body (contabulatio); on the right-hand side, its
attached border can be discerned in a groove once probably
filled with red-painted stucco or colored glass.
Certain typological and stylistic details allow us to ascertain
that the portrait is a reworking of an earlier version from about
the mid-3rd century, which also coincides with the period when
this type of toga with separate border was worn. The calm
expression on the face of the subject, marked by an intense
spirituality, and the wide-open eyes suggest a connection with a
series of portraits from the Theodosian period depicting
philosophers. This portrait type was widespread throughout the
empire, known from late 4th- or early 5th-century examples
from Athens, Constantinople, and Aphrodisias in Asia Minor,
all places thought to be connected with centers for the teaching
of classical studies, which were still flourishing even at that date.
This would explain its re-use by Christians, who saw an apostle
or saint in the face and placed it in the Cryptoporticus of the
ancient agora, a place where the Christian religion was being
practiced, which was furnished with wall paintings depicting
Saints Kosmas and Damian in the 6th century, and where their
cult probably continued into the 7th century.
The attempts to obliterate any hint in the draperies of the
bust’s Roman features, seen in the alterations to the toga, have
been viewed by scholars as aimed at creating a new, Christian
interpretation of the bust (interpretatio Christiana). This process
was probably completed by a cross, painted on the forehead or
engraved on the now lost base of the bust. The practice of
marking things with a cross, aimed at erasing the pagan roots of
ancient art, proved quite widespread in the Roman world, while
similar examples can also be found in Macedonia.
K. Tzanavari
Bibliography
Grabar 1963, 5–15; Vermeule 1968, 368, fig. 184; Smith 1990;
Delivorrias 1991; Zanker 2000, 181–86, 230 –34, 288–300; Kaltsas 2002,
373, n. 789; Catalogue ΙΙ, 219–23, no. 308, figs. 979–982 [G. Despinis];
Stefanidou-Tiveriou 2006, 351, fig. 37; Stefanidou-Tiveriou 2008.

The edge and foot of the bowl have been cut. The right side is
chipped.
The gold glass features a medallion with an image of the
apostles Peter and Paul standing on either side of a gem-studded
column surmounted by a chi-rho. The apostles wear identical
tunics and mantles. Each slightly raises his right hand in a gesture
of speech and places his left hand at his waist. The words PETRUS
and PAULUS identify each saint; however, for Christians who
were familiar with them, such an inscription would have hardly
been necessary. Already by the mid-4th century, the appearances
of the two saints, both of whom had major churches dedicated
to them at their tombs just outside the walls of Rome, were well
established. Peter was recognizable by his short hair and beard
and Paul by his balding head and long beard.
Glass bowls were frequently decorated by applying gold
leaf to the glass, engraving the decoration in the gold, and then
placing another layer of glass on top of the gold. Most examples
have been found in the catacombs outside Rome, where the
bottoms of glass bowls were embedded in the plaster used to seal
the loculi (grave cells) in which bodies were laid. The function of
gold glass vessels before they were used in the catacombs is not
known for certain. It is possible that they were given as gifts at
special occasions during the lifetimes of individuals and then
re-used as tomb decoration. Unlike the other example of gold
glass in the exhibition (cat. no. 135), which represents a male

85

figure at the center of Christian scenes (presumably the deceased),
this does not feature a representation of the individual buried
within the loculus. The column and chi-rho likely symbolize
Christ himself and the foundation of the Church, over which the
two apostles have been given authority, a symbolic traditio legis
(giving of the law). Over the course of the 4th century, images of
saints became prevalent, indicating a shift toward an emphasis
on images of holy persons that accompanied the rise of icons in
Christian religious practices. At tombs, images of saints may
have signified their holy protection over the deceased.
K. Marsengill
Bibliography
Vopel 1899, no. 375; Avery 1921, 174, fig. 3; Morey 1959, no. 455;

holding a staff in his left hand, probably a cruciform one, and
touches the central cross with his right hand. The head and
shoulders of this figure, as well as the top of the staff, are missing.
In the border between two incised lines an inscription in evenly
sized (H. 0.035–0.040 m.) capital letters has been carved in
reverse: [ΕΥΛ]ΟΓΙΑ Κ[ΥΡΙ]ΟΥ ΕΦ ΙΜΑΣ ΚΑΙ ΤΩΝ ΑΓΙΩΝ
ΑΝΔΡΕΟΥ . . . (the blessing of the Lord and of the saints Andrew
. . . [be] upon us]. The two figures have been identified as the
apostles Andrew and Paul, who founded the church in
Thessaloniki. According to the inscription, the object was used
to produce eulogiai (pilgrim tokens), that is, souvenirs or gifts
from the church made of bread or clay, or, more probably, it
may have served as a mold for metal eulogiai.
A. Antonaras

Part of the body is missing.
Circular stone eulogia stamp or mold with conical back,
in the center of which a handle has been created in the shape of
a truncated pyramid with a suspension hole.
On the front in reverse relief, a jeweled cross with unequal
arms is depicted, abutted by a roundel with a bust of Christ
blessing with his left hand and holding a closed book in his right,
against a star-studded background. His head and right shoulder
are missing. To the right and left of the cross stand two male
figures dressed in long tunics with vertical stripes and himatia.
The figure on the left, who has short hair and a small beard, is
holding a book with a cross on the cover in his right hand as he
touches the central cross with his left. The figure on the right is

The tray is mended from several sherds, and the missing parts
were restored using molds made from parts of other, identical
trays. At the lower left side of the bottom is an ancient repair
with a metal clamp. The shallow tray is rectangular with a
wide, flat rim. Represented in relief at the center are the
enthroned figures of the two leading apostles, Peter and Paul,
on either side of a large Christogram. On the rim, four scenes
from the Old Testament story of Jonah are repeated twice in
narrative sequence and are accompanied by a likewise double
depiction of fish.

This tray is a characteristic example of African red-slip
ware, which dominated the Mediterranean market in Late
Antiquity. Trays of this type were produced between 360 and
430. They reproduce the shape and often the iconography of
their counterparts in silver. Silver rectangular trays (lances
quadratae) were part of the sumptuous household furnishings in
Late Antiquity and were probably used for display, as perhaps
were their cheaper imitations in clay.
Ceramic trays of this type were made using limestone
molds, a technique that permitted mass production. However,
only a few intact examples have survived. It should be noted that
although clay trays were undoubtedly cheaper than their metal
models, they were not of negligible value, as borne out by the
examples with traces of ancient repair, such as the Benaki
Museum tray (see also cat. no. 52). Interventions of this kind
reveal that the owners were unwilling to discard a damaged
vessel and took measures to prolong its life.
The subjects represented on the tray, the leading apostles
and the story of Jonah, are among the most popular in Christian
iconography of Late Antiquity and appear on diverse objects.
The combined representation of Peter and Paul symbolizes the
union of the Church through the Concordia Apostolorum.
There is nothing surprising in its coexistence with an Old
Testament theme, since combinations of subjects from both
testaments were common in the art of the period, underlining the
unity of the two traditions. Moreover, the story of Jonah was a
prefiguration of the three-day Entombment and Resur­rection of
Christ and consequently an allegory for the Salvation of Mankind.
A. Drandaki
Bibliography

The pendant is in excellent condition.
A double-solidus medallion of Constantine the Great in
military costume and wearing a radiate crown is framed in a
wide opus interrasile (pierced openwork) frame suspended from
a wide loop in the same technique. Around the medallion are six
busts in very high relief, which gives the pendant an impressive
sense of animation and increases its aura of luxury.
The medallion is inscribed CONSTANTINVS MAX(imus)
AVG(ustus). On the reverse appear Constantine’s sons, Crispus
and Constantine II, who are identified as consuls for the third time,
thus dating the medallion to 324: CRISPVS ET CONSTANTINVS
NOBB (=nobilissimi) CAESS (=Caesares) COSS (=consules) III;
the mint is SIRM(ium), a Roman city now in Serbia.
The pendant is an outstanding example of coin-set jewelry,
a style that was developed especially between the 3rd and 5th
centuries. Many medallions, distributed as official presents and
kept as heirlooms, were put into frames so that they could be
worn and displayed; this pendant (and its four mates, see below)
is one of the rare examples to combine the aesthetic sensibility of
very fine openwork with the technical expertise of threedimensional heads. The medallion was set in such a way that
both sides were visible and, if necessary, it could be removed
from the frame.

87

There are five opus interrasile pendants that are related by
the subtlety of their patterns, the double solidus medallions of
Constantine they hold, and the elegant busts on the frames: one
octagonal (Cleveland Museum of Art), two circular (this one
and another in the Musée du Louvre, Paris), and two hexagonal
pendants (cat. no. 16, the other in the British Museum, London).
This incomparable set of jewelry must have belonged to someone
in the highest rank of the civil or military administration of the
Roman Empire.
S. Zwirn
Bibliography
Bruhn 1993, 16–22, no. 4, fig. 12; Deppert-Lippitz 1996, 50–53,
figs. 14–17; Ross 2005, no. 180 [S. A. Boyd]; Grüsinger – Boike 2007,
I.11.7 [G. Bühl].

and Constantine II inaugurate their second consulship: CRISPVS
ET CONSTANTINVS NOB(illissimi) CAESS (=Caesares) COSS
(=consules) II, giving a date of 321. The medallion was minted in
SIRM(ium).
Although a mate to the circular pendant, it differs from it in
significant ways. The openwork patterns are not the same: here
there is a symmetrical, heart-shaped configuration with an ivy
leaf pointing inward, whereas on the circular medallion, the
openwork is a spiral enclosing a five-pointed vine leaf. The
three-dimensional busts also differ: here they alternate male and
female, whereas the circular medallion has four male and two
female heads; although there are some similarities among the
heads on the five pendants in the set (see cat. no. 15), no
consistent sequencing or identifications emerge. Despite theories
proposed to explain the heads as part of a meaningful program,
their variety of gender, facial type, age, and hairstyle has not
supported the interpretations.
The medallions of Constantine set into the elaborate
pendants date to either 321 or 324. Although the pendants could
have been made soon after the latter date, the style of the
heads—long faces with pointed chins, long necks, and heads
tilted at distinct angles—resembles those on precious metalwork
and sculpture of the late 4th century. Coins that were said to
have been found with the gold pendants date to the third quarter
of the 4th century and into the 380s. For these reasons, the
pendants are placed into the last quarter of the 4th century.
S. Zwirn
Bibliography
Bruhn 1993, 16–22, no. 5, fig. 11; Deppert-Lippitz 1996, 44–48,
figs. 8a–b, 12a–f; Ross 2005, no. 181 [S. A. Boyd].

The pendant is in excellent condition.
Constructed like the circular medallion in this exhibition
(cat. no. 15), except for its lobed hexagonal frame, the pendant
holds a double solidus of Constantine in military garb and wear­
ing a radiate crown, probably a reference to Sol, the sun god.
The inscription reads D(ominus) N(oster) CONSTANTINVS
MAX(imus) AVG(ustus). On the reverse, busts of his sons Crispus

With little apparent damage, this relatively unadorned ring
features a rectangular bezel, contiguous with a hoop that is flat in
section and squared off at the edges. The bezel is inscribed with
the word FIDEM, and the name CONSTANTINO runs around
the exterior of the hoop; this inscription—[May I pledge my] faith
to [emperor] Constantine—implies that the ring may have been
owned by an imperial official of some sort. Fourth-century tastes
across the Roman Empire increasingly dictated elaborate and
brightly colored jewelry, but this simple ring, perpetuating an
earlier Roman design, does not participate in that trend. Despite
its somewhat plain decoration, however, the use of gold provides
a considerable level of aesthetic and monetary value.
Bibliography

Die axis 6 o’clock; uncirculated condition.
Obverse legend: CONSTAN TINVSPFAVC [Constantine,
Reverent and Happy, Augustus]; reverse legend VICTOR
VBIQVE [Victor Everywhere]
The early coinage of Constantine continued the pattern initiated
with the establishment of the tetrarchy under Diocletian: coins
were issued in the name of each emperor from a variety of mints,
with some reverse representations related to the specific emperor
and others concerning the state of the empire as a whole. The
chief distinguishing feature of Constantine’s early coinage is his
representation as unbearded, perhaps stressing his status as the
son of Constantius Chlorus, one of the founding Caesars of the
tetrarchy. The reverses of some of his coins feature tributes to
the pagan gods Mars, Apollo, and Sol, whereas others call
attention to his military victories, such as this one, which
proclaims him universal victor and depicts him as a general in
triumph over two captives.

This piece is remarkable in many ways. Its weight of one-and-ahalf times that of the standard gold coin, the solidus, indicates a
special status of some sort. Its obverse lacks a legend with an
identification of the issuer, which is incorporated into the reverse
legend. In the depiction, Constantine wears an ornate diadem
rather than the more common laurel wreath. There is no
indication of shoulders below the neck, which allows the image
to be oriented either facing straight ahead or looking up (a strict
adherence to the die relationship of obverse to reverse renders
the gaze directly forward). There is little doubt that this coin is
the one alluded to by Eusebios in his Life of Constantine (IV,
15), when he reports that Constantine “directed his likeness to
be stamped on the golden coin of the empire with the eyes
uplifted as in the posture of prayer to God.” Like the very few
other references to Christianity on the coinage of Constantine,
this is a subtle and ambiguous declaration of faith that would
not offend pagan subjects. The reverse follows almost exactly
that of the earlier coin with its depiction of military triumph.
A. M. Stahl
Bibliography
Carson 1981, 3, 30 –39; Burnett 1987, 145–47.

A. M. Stahl
Bibliography
Carson 1981, 3, 7–29; Burnett 1987, 140 –45.

89

the Council of Nicaea (325), which the emperor had led in
person, the anniversary medallion demonstrates how imperial
traditions were still expressed, at this turning point, independently
of the new ideology of the world as a Christian realm.
S. Zwirn
Bibliography
Bellinger 1958, no. 6; Age of Spirituality 1979, no. 35 [W. E. Metcalf];
Toynbee 1944 (background for medallions).

There is a vertical scratch through the cheek and a slight dent
in the upper edge of the medallion, which is otherwise in fine
condition.
The emperor, shown in profile to the right, is identified as
CONSTANTINVS MAX(imus) AVG(ustus). He wears a
paludamentum, a military cloak, fastened at his right shoulder
with a gemmed fibula. As on the medallion from Siscia (cat. no.
21), the emperor wears a diadem—the exclusive prerogative of
the ruling family—here composed of round and oval gems and
tied at the nape of the neck with fillets seemingly flicked into the
air by a sudden turn of the head. The hair is long over the
forehead and on the neck, and the emperor’s thick neck and
focused gaze suggest forceful authority and great physical
strength. The reverse shows two winged genii standing, facing
each other, and holding a long garland that hangs in swags. The
image is surrounded by the inscription GAVDIVM AVGVSTI
NOSTRI (Joy of our Augustus).
In 324, after defeating his co-emperor and thereby becoming
the sole ruler of the Roman Empire, Constantine chose the
strategic site of Augusta Antonina (formerly the Greek city of
Byzantion) to develop as his new capital city. Constantinoupolis
was dedicated in 330 and would endure as the capital of the
empire—known in modern times as the Byzantine Empire—until
1453. Issued for the emperor’s vicennalia, his twentieth anni­
versary as ruler, this celebratory medallion must have been
among the earliest productions from the newly established mint
in “Constantine’s City,” yet the formulation for the emperor’s
anniversary is rendered with traditional imagery—the emperor
in military dress, the display of a floral garland, the winged
genii, the choices of title and phrase. These are all elements of a
centuries-old language for imperial self-presentation, that is to
say, without acknowledgment of Constantine’s indebtedness to
divine support from the Christian god. Coming one year after

This large medallion is very well preserved.
Facing to the right is the bust of the emperor, inscribed
CONSTANTINVS AVG(ustus); his head, tilted back, emphasizes
his upward glance. Constantine wears a diadem of gemstones
and pearls, which is tied with fillets that seem to fly freely. The
subtle modeling of the facial features gives the profile a sense of
intelligence and animation, and the thick neck suggests great
strength. On the reverse, a Roman soldier carries a spear and a
trophy and steps forward with his left leg on a seated (meaning
defeated) man in eastern dress. The inscription proclaims VIRTVS
D(omini) N(ostri) CONSTANTINI AVG(usti) (Courage of Our
Lord Constantine Augustus). The Latin virtus comprises the
ideals of manliness, excellence, good character, and courage.
SIS(cia) indicates the mint.
The medallion’s weight reveals that this is a multiple of the
solidus—the standard gold coin of exchange established by
Constantine. Not minted for circulation, medallions were
created for distribution on ceremonial occasions, often as
presents directly from the emperor to worthy recipients. This
example was struck to celebrate Constantine’s vicennalia, his
twentieth anniversary as ruler, in 326.

Having had a vision of a trophy of the cross rising from the
light of the sun with the message “Conquer by this” (En Touto
Nika in Greek, transformed into Hoc Signo Victor Eris in Latin),
he had his soldiers place the emblem on their shields—and won
the Battle of the Milvian Bridge in 312. From then on, he
remained committed to the Christian church and generous in his
patronage, but he also preserved many traditional imperial—
political and iconographic—formulae. Although the emperor’s
biographer Bishop Eusebios claimed that “the deep impression
made by Divine Faith upon his soul may be perceived from the
fact that he ordered that he be portrayed on the gold coins
looking upward, intent upon God, in an attitude of prayer”
(Life of Constantine 4.15), it is more likely that inspiration for
Constantine’s heavenward glance was a portrait type of
Alexander the Great, in which the youthful conqueror gazes
upward to express his personal connection with the supernal
realm. The idealized and youthful appearance of Constantine, as
compared with his contemporary image on the medallion from
Constantinople (cat. no. 20), gives credence to this interpretation.
S. Zwirn
Bibliography
Toynbee 1944 (discussion of medallions); Bellinger 1958, no. 7; Age of
Spirituality 1979, no. 34 [W. E. Metcalf]; Odahl 2004, 105–8 (discussion
of Constantine’s vision).

Obverse: DN THEODOSIVS PF AVC = Dominus Noster
Theodosius Pius Felix Augustus = Our Lord Theodosios
Pious [and] Fortunate Augustus.
Bust of the emperor wearing a helmet, diadem, and cuirass
and holding a spear. He is turned to the right in threequarter profile.
Reverse: VOTXXX MVLTXXX B =May the emperor [live]
many years [officina] B.
A personification of Constantinople holds a globus cruciger
and a long scepter. She is resting her foot on the prow of a
ship. On the right in the field is a star. In exergue: CONOB.
Unpublished

Y. Nikolaou

22–29. From Roman to Christian Symbols on

Byzantine Coinage
In the early Byzantine period (i.e., 4th–7th c.), the eastern
Roman Empire preserved many of the administrative
structures of the ancient world, and its development into a
medieval state, Byzan­tium, was a slow process. The coinage
followed the same slow pace of change, but systematic
efforts to Christianize it can be seen in the switch from
Roman iconographical subject matter and symbols to
Christian ones with the introduction of new motifs.
Following the Roman model, the reverse of the first
Byzantine coins depicted Victory, the Roman goddess of
military success. However, with the gradual Christianization
of the iconography of Byzantine coins, this pagan goddess
ceded her place to the Christian angel. From the second half
of the 6th century the reverse of the gold coinage is occupied
by a simple cross, symbol of Christian victory, on a three- or
four-stepped base. It symbolizes the cross of Christ’s Passion
and its stepped base is a symbolic and abstract representation
of Golgotha.
Y. Nikolaou
Bibliography
Nike-Victoria 2004, 62–63.

Epiphanios was most probably bishop of Thebes and helped to
build the city with the assistance of Stephanos (?), whose titles
were eparchikos and ekdikos, meaning that he worked in the
office of the prefect of Illyricum and at the same time exercised
his judicial authority to protect the city of Thebes.
A. Dina
Bibliography
Sotiriou 1955, 138; Avramea – Feissel 1987, 362–63.

capitals and pilaster capitals of this period is not easy to
pinpoint. The pilaster capital with the figure of Kabeiros, along
with others depicting Zeus, Hygeia, one of the Dioskouroi, and
the personification of the Tyche of Thessaloniki, are all thought
to depict the city’s divine defenders.
These architectural members were found in the Octagon,
the throne room, and the audience hall in the Palace of Galerius,
although it is likely that they are connected with an earlier
circular building on the same spot. It has been confirmed that
they show stylistic similarities with other high-quality works of
the same period from Thessaloniki, such as the relief decoration
on the great triumphal arch and a smaller one that crowned a
shrine to the south of the Octagon. These works are associated
with a local sculpture workshop, which operated to serve the
intensive building activity that developed when Galerius settled
in Thessaloniki. Pilaster capitals of the 5th century with
acanthus foliage flanking relief figures of animals found in the
churches of Thessaloniki are in the Byzantine and Christian
Museum in Athens.
K. Tzanavari
Bibliography
Mendel 1914, 164–66, nos. 476, 477; Mendel 1914a, 547–51, nos.
1341–1344; Touratsoglou 1988, 95–96, fig. 5; Mentzos 1989, 88–94,
310–11, no. 74, pl. 32α; Stefanidou-Tiveriou 1995, 92–94, pl. 30α;
Vokotopoulou 1996, 76–78; LIMC VΙΙΙ, 1997, 820–28, L. Megaloi
Theoi [D. Vollkommer-Glökler]; Catalogue Ι, 189–95, no. 142, fig. 368

The pilaster capital has been pieced together, and parts of the
foliate decoration and the relief figure are missing. In the Ionicorder decoration on the lower part, three eggs are separated by
darts, of which only the middle one is visible; the eggs on either
side are covered by acanthus leaves. Two split-leaved acanthus
with high-relief flutes curve outward on the lateral sides. The
relief figure of Kabeiros is flanked by another two tendrils, which
end in calyxes, from which spring two paired volutes: the inner
ones converge, whereas the outer ones end in toruses, which
support the bipartite abacus.
Kabeiros is standing on a plinth, advancing his right leg. He
wears a short tunic with sleeves and a chlamys with elaborate
drapery folds, and his hair frames his face, forming curls. As
the demonic young god of fire and metalworking, he holds a
rhyton or drinking cup in his right hand and in his left what is
probably a hammer. The “most holy god of our forefathers,”
patron of Thessaloniki, is depicted here in an iconographic type
known from 2nd- and 3rd-century coins minted in the city
and which probably represents the god’s cult statue in the
Kabeirion. Similarly, on the coins the god is depicted on the city
walls, in commemoration of the time when he warded off the
besieging Goths in 254 and again in 268. His cult was of an
orgiastic nature, and the writers Clement of Alexandria and
Firmicus Maternus connect it with blood sacrifices. The cult of
St. Demetrios, also patron saint of Thessaloniki, is thought to be
a continuation of Kabeiros’s.
This type of composite (Corinthian and Ionic) pilaster
capital is known from other built complexes of the late empire.
Nevertheless, the symbolism of decorative relief figures on

Losses to the projecting acanthus, the rim of the basket, and the
coils of the volutes, the latter exposing drill holes originally
hidden. Edges lightly chipped.
The back of the capital is flat and summarily finished, and
the sides are undecorated. In the upper zone, two volutes spring
left and right, emerging from sprays of acanthus leaves that are
carved with notable shallowness and without the use of the drill.
These, in turn, emerge from a small basket projecting at the
center top, which has a twisted rim and base, wavy wickerwork,
and pierced apertures. The lower two-thirds of the capital are
filled with vertical stalks of acanthus, the upper leaves of which
splay outward with considerably more volume than those below,
which are nearly flat. The deep drill work of the leaves, finished
with a chisel, gives them a crisp, spiky appearance, a type known
as “fine-toothed” acanthus. The effects of light and shade,
employed by classical artisans to emphasize physical presence
and monumentality, are here used to reduce the volume to the
point of abstraction, a hallmark of the Late Antique style. Unlike
most Corinthian or Corinthianizing capitals, the acanthus of the
lower zone is not arranged in two tiers but instead rises from the
base in tall stalks, six leaves on a side. The one in the center and
the two on the ends are in the frontal plain; those between are
recessed, with only the serrated leaves visible, all arrayed with
rigid symmetry. Although it may have been carved in a quarry of
Asia Minor, such as Dokimeion, the capital could have adorned
a church or a public building in Syria or elsewhere in the eastern
empire. The basket recalls more elaborate examples on early
6th-century capitals, like that on another capital in Princeton,
from Antioch-on-the-Orontes. Indeed, the unified articulation of
the flat surface with a single tier of towering acanthus looks
forward to some of the finest capitals in Justinian’s church of
Hagia Sophia in Constantinople.
J. M. Padgett
Unpublished

This monumental stele has been preserved in good condition,
but the upper part (and perhaps a pediment) is missing. Both
sides are surrounded by moldings that form rectangular frames.
The base is made up of a plinth with four low integral feet, a
wide scotia, a frieze, and other moldings. The stele was visible
from three sides. Large incised crosses with flared terminals and
pyramidal bases decorate the lateral sides; the unseen back
surface was roughly worked, so that it could be attached to
something. The stele’s find-spot near the south gate of the

Christian acropolis suggests it had a prominent location in the
walls. The front of the stele was occupied by the eight-line
inscription. The carefully executed letters with triangular
terminals are between 0.05 and 0.55 meters high: + Χ(ριστE) ο
Θ (εOς) / ημΩν / σΩσον / και ανΑ- / στησον / και
την / πόλ{ε}ιν / ταΥτην (Christ our God, save and
restore this city).
This type of script is consistent with that of 6th-century
inscriptions. Regarding the content, the plea to Christ to save
and restore Amphipolis can be related to the decisive historical
events setting the course that urban centers in the Balkans would
follow throughout that century. Events such as the epidemic of
bubonic plague, recorded in 542 in the reign of the emperor
Justinian I (Prokopios, History of the Wars ΙΙ, xxii–xxiii, ed.
Loeb), had long-term demographic, economic, and social
consequences for the whole empire, as did the attacks by the
Avars and Slavs in the same period, which escalated in the 6th
century and later in the 7th, and the earthquakes commemorated
by the anonymous author of the Second Book of Miracles of
St. Demetrios, which devastated Thessaloniki, Philippi, Thasos,
and the Pierian Valley in the late 6th and early 7th centuries.
These too are likely to have affected the fate of Amphipolis until
its final decline.
S. Doukata-Demertzi
Bibliography
Doukata-Demertzi – Kommatas 1998; Bakirtzis 2000.

The sundial consists of three separate but interconnected rings
of flattened metal, the middle one of which is divided into two
hemicycles. The two inner rings are each connected at
diametrically opposed points to the outer one—the innermost
one by means of two ordinary bolts, the middle one by more
complex fittings—and a suspension hook hangs from each of
them. Thus the two inner rings can turn through 360o independent
of each other, making the instrument into a sort of spherical
astrolabe. On the curved, external face of the middle ring are
engraved two by two on each half ring the names and the
latitudes of cities: ΡωΜΗC ΜΑΓ [of Rome …] ΟΥΙΕΝΝ(HC)
[of Vienne/ …] ΜΕ–ΑΛΕΞΑΝ(ΔΡΕΙΑC) [of Alexan(dria) …]
ΜΛΑ – ΡΟΔΟΥ ΜΛS [Rhodes …]. On the two lateral sides are
engraved the names of the months, so that the months from
January to June on one side and from July to December on the
other correspond to each of the named cities. The curved outer
surface of the inner ring has a depression, in the middle of which
is situated an opening through which the sun’s rays pass. The
curved inner side is divided by incisions into twelve parts. This
unique device can measure the hours, calculate approximate
latitudes, or determine the azimuth and the altitude of the sun or
any other heavenly body. It builds on the achievements of the
Hellenistic tradition, which the Byzantines later improved on
under the influence of their Christian cosmology and also as a
result of their interaction with the Muslim world.
S. Dadaki

The mosaic with the personification of the month April is part of
a larger—partly preserved—mosaic pavement that covered two
rooms of what was most likely a public building, which was
partly excavated in the 1960s. The whole pavement with figural
and decorative themes also contains three inscriptions of great
importance, since they include the names of the two mosaicists
and of a priest and teacher of the divine word. The pavement
that covered one room of the building is composed of two figural
panels bordered by complex interlaces. The south panel with
human and animal figures was earlier considered to depict a
common hunting scene, but now it should be interpreted as a
scene of Venatio. The north panel portrays the months July,
February, May, and April. The four panels are arranged in two
superimposed registers each with two figures of the months who
rush toward each other. Thus, July is paired with February (top
row) and May with April (lower row). April is identified by an
inscription in the upper right corner and is dressed in a short
tunic, fluttering chlamys, and light boots. He holds in his raised
arms a lamb and hurries to the left, forming with May the same
antithetical arrangement as in the July and February panels.
Depictions of seasons of the years or months originate from
motifs of the classical period that were strong enough to survive.
The peculiarity of the mosaic from Thebes is that only four

months are depicted, which does not seem to follow any logical
order, and that they are represented as rushing figures who offer
their attributes in their outstretched arms. Such representations
of months are rather rare in Late Antique mosaic pavements, as,
for example, in the lost Calendar Mosaic from Carthage of the
late 4th or early 5th century on which the twelve months were
depicted in correct order in a circular arrangement. On the
Greek mainland, similar rushing figures offering baskets but
accompanied by different inscriptions are situated in the apse of
the Basilica of Thyrsos in Tegea and in the narthex of the Basilica
in Delphi. The whole mosaic pavement from Thebes contains
figural scenes inspired by classical antiquity, decorative themes
such as oblique grids inscribed with birds, and at the same time
inscriptions of purely Christian content.
E. Gerousi
Bibliography
Spiro 1978a, 207–21, 655; Spiro 1978b, 262–63; AssimakopoulouAtzaka 1987, 157–59, pl. 255–64; Cormack – Vassilaki 2008, 379, no. 8.

The right shoulder and arm have been restored with plaster.
The nose is broken.
The man is wearing a chiton and a himation, which falls
diagonally from the left shoulder to the right armpit. There is a
mass of hair at the sides of the head that forms heavy, untidy
curls at the temples, while the hair on the top of the head and
particularly at the front, just above the forehead, is thin and
sparse, indicating the subject’s advancing years. His beard is full
and he has a thick moustache, which entirely covers the upper lip.
The arched eyebrows are rendered with diagonal incisions.
The eyes are large and wide open, with heavy eyelids, and the
iris and the pupil are both indicated. There is a wrinkle above
the hooked nose. There are more wrinkles on the forehead. The
ears are large and protruding. All these features clearly delineate
the personal characteristics of the figure. At the same time,
however, the way in which some of them, such as the large,
stylized eyebrows, the oversize eyes, or the hair above the
forehead, are rendered is redolent of a certain introversion and
spirituality and could be thought of as early expressionistic
features of Byzantine art. It seems likely to depict a man of
some importance in public life in Athens. The portrait is
reminiscent of similar busts of philosophers, and some scholars
have associated it with the so-called Eutropios of Ephesus type
and dated it to the reign of Theodosios the Great. A more
specific dating of 440 –460 has also been suggested.
N. Kaltsas
Bibliography
Agora I, 1953, 80; Stavridi 1981, 137–38, pl. 51γ; Meischner 1991, 386,
pl. 87,1; Romiopoulou 1997, 132, no. 144; Kaltsas 2002, 373, no. 798.

Excellent condition. Only the nose is broken. The bust’s base
was made of a separate piece of marble, which has been lost.
The woman’s face, slightly turned to the left, is squared off
with a broad lower jaw and is fleshy but has no wrinkles. She
has a low forehead, large protruding eyes, a hooked nose and
very thin, closed lips. The pupils have been hollowed out with a
drill, and the irises are incised. Her double chin bears witness to
her age. Her abundant hair is presented in an elaborate hairstyle
and creates a dense mass piled high around her face. The hair is
parted in the middle and falls in deep waves toward the tips of
her ears, leaving only the lobes visible. It is bound up at the nape
of the neck and swept up in a braid ending on the top of the
head, where it is fastened to create a thick bun, which is visible
from the front. This type of hairstyle first appeared in the Severan
period and continued to be highly popular throughout Late
Antiquity. She is wearing a chiton and himation, draped with
elaborate folds across her chest.
This is one of the best examples of figurative art of the
period. The female bust is distinguished by the outstanding
quality of its workmanship, the modeling of the flesh on the face,
and the accuracy of the outlines and detailing on the hair. This

Excellent condition. Only the nose is broken and part of the
ears. The bust’s base is made of a separate piece of marble.
The bust stands on a cylindrical base. The head is slightly
turned to the right. The subject is a man of mature years wearing
a chiton and himation, fastened on the right shoulder. His face
is long and thin with a high forehead, large eyes, tightly shut lips
with a slight smile, and a well-shaped, determined chin. The
pupils have been created with small drill holes and the irises are
incised. His age is betrayed by the wrinkles on the forehead,
lines around the eyes, furrows between the nose and cheeks, and
sagging around the jaw line. His hair forms a thick mass of locks
that hug the head, leaving the corners of the forehead free.

This male portrait bust formed a pair with the female bust
(cat. no. 37), an exquisite example of the art of the Late Antique
period. They no doubt stood together, depicting a husband and
wife, as is evident from the way they turn their heads, so that
they are looking at one another.
They represent the “refined” style that characterizes some
portraits of this period in Rome dated to the late 4th century, the
reign of Honorius, or slightly earlier, in the time of Theodosios I.
A date between 420 and 430 (i.e., in the reign of Theodosios II),
has been proposed for this portrait. The subject of the bust was
a distinguished official of the period, as is indicated by a fragment
of sculpture with a copy of his portrait found in Corinth. The
pair of busts found at Kopanos, near Veroia, is thought likely to
have decorated a luxurious private residence in the vicinity of
ancient Mieza.
P. Adam-Veleni
Bibliography
L’Orange 1961, figs. 27, 1 and 3; Rüsch 1969, 76, 100ff., 130ff., P36,
figs. 46–47, Meischner 1991, 397, 90,3; Kiilerich 1993, 113, fig. 62;
de Grazia Vanderpool 2003, 379; Catalogue III.

Despite the damage at the lower right corner of the reverse and
a crack running through the upper right inscription on the other
plaque, the diptych is in good condition.
Two panels, decorated with relief carving on the outside,
filled with a layer of wax on the inside, and hinged together to
form a diptych, were used as writing tablets and notepads in
ancient times. The deluxe version is made of ivory and was
issued by the noble members and dignitaries of Late Antique and
Byzantine society to announce and celebrate special events, such
as a marriage or a promotion to a higher-ranking office. Consular
diptychs form a category of these ivory diptychs that were
commissioned by ordinary consuls (consules ordinarii) in both
parts of the Roman Empire. The purpose was to commemorate
the appointment and to declare the start of the consul’s term at
the beginning of the New Year, which was celebrated with
several days of ceremonies and public entertainment (ludi
consulares). On the inside, each wing has a recessed field,
following the tradition of the wooden and more mundane
diptychs; whether these fields were filled with wax for messages
is questionable because not a single original text has been
preserved and it is still debated as to what information—if any
at all—these tablets delivered.
This diptych, with an elegant geometrical and floral
decoration, identifies the commissioner as the consul of Constan­
tinople in the year 525. Within an elaborately ornamented
octagon in the center of each panel a Latin inscription declares:
“Flavius Theodorus Filoxenus, son of Sotericus Filoxenus, with
the rank of illustris, domestic count, formerly master in Thrace,
and ordinary consul.” In the four circles in each corner of the
leaves, a Greek inscription in incised majuscules reads: “While
holding office as consul, I, Philoxenos, offer this gift to one who
takes pride in his way of life.” Two other diptychs of Philoxenos,
preserved in the Cabinet des Médailles in Paris, differ in design,
indicating that the same person issued a variety of diptych types.
Presumably they were distributed in accord with the different
status of the addressees.
G. Bühl
Bibliography
Weitzmann 1972, 28–29, pls. 14, 15; Olovsdotter 2005, 5, 36; Bühl 2008,
72, ill. p. 73.

One of the features of transition from Roman to Byzantine
coinage, as regards to iconography, is the way the image of
the emperor changes from a profile to a frontal depiction.
The profile portrait of the emperor of the Late Roman solidi
survived on denominations of gold currency, Byzantine
semisses and trimesses, up to the 7th century. Similarly the
three-quarter profile of the imperial portraits on solidi of the
6th century strongly recalls Roman models. It is worth
noting that the frontal depiction is better suited to displaying
more symbols, such as the globus cruciger (or globe
surmounted by a cross), the scepter, and the shield, and
makes the emperor’s diadem or crown stand out more.
Y. Nikolaou

The top and sides of the ivory leaves of the diptych have been
planed down, possibly for the diptych’s reuse as a book cover.
There are visible cracks in the ivory.
The diptych is made up of two ivory panels that would have
been joined with a hinge. Such diptychs were commissioned by
consuls and given as gifts to important government officials.
Justinian, who later became emperor, gave this particular
diptych to members of the senate, which may explain why it is
less elaborate than many extant consular diptychs that were
given to people of higher status. The relatively plain appearance
is quite conservative in style, though skillfully executed. The
central medallions are framed with classical cyma moldings. At
the four corners of both panels are lions’ heads emerging from
lush beds of stylized acanthus leaves, a type of decoration that
was more common in earlier centuries. Regularly placed holes
cast the leaves into high relief and enliven the surface. Although
many early icons were executed in ivory and took the form of
diptychs, surviving consular diptychs have primarily secular
imagery. The only indication of Justinian’s Christian faith in this
example is the crosses that begin and end each inscription.
The tabulae at the top give Justinian’s full name, followed
by his various titles and government positions: FL(avius)
PETR(us) SABBAT(ius) JUSTIN(ianus) V(ir) I(n)L(ustris) COM(es)

Reverse: VICTORI AAVGGG= Victoria Augustorum = Victory
of the Augusti.
Standing emperor, turned to the right, holding a vexillum, or
standard, and a globe, being crowned by a Victory. A captive is
trampled under his left foot. In the field: R V. In the exergue:
COΜOB.
Y. Nikolaou

Frontal bust of the emperor wearing a helmet, a diadem
with prependoulia, and a cuirass. He is holding a globus
cruciger.
Reverse: VICTORI AAVCCC H= Victoria Augustorum
[officina] H = Victory of the Augusti.
An angel is holding a tall cross and a globus cruciger.
On the right in the field is a star. In the exergue: CONOB.
Y. Nikolaou

Obverse: DN ANASTASIVS PP AVC = Dominus Noster
Anastasius Perpetuus Augustus = Our Lord Anastasios
Perpetual Augustus.
Bust of the emperor with helmet, diadem, cuirass, and spear,
turned in three-quarter profile to the right.
Reverse: VICTORI AAVGGGΙ= Victoria Augustorum [officina] Ι
= Victory of the Augusti.
A Victory (Nike-Victoria) holds a tall, gemmed cross.
On the right in the field is a star. On the exergue: CONOB.

In the early Byzantine period (4th–mid-7th c.), Latin
characters and the Latin language were used exclusively in
inscriptions on coins. However, as Greek literacy gained
ground in the multicultural empire, Greek script took over
from Latin and the Greek language became the official
language of the Byzantine Empire. The first inscription in
Greek written in Greek characters, ΕΝ ΤΟΥΤΩ ΝΙΚΑ (= in
this conquer), is seen in 641 on folles of Constans II. From
the reign of Leo III (717–41) Greek words appear in the
inscriptions on coins, though they are written in the Latin
alphabet. For some centuries, up to the 11th century, inscrip­
tions on coins were a mixture of Greek and Latin characters
and words.
Y. Nikolaou

Obverse: DN ANASTASIVS PP AVC= Dominus Noster
Anastasius Perpetuus Augustus = Our Lord Anastasios
Perpetual Augustus.
Bust of the emperor helmeted, diademed, cuirassed and
holding a spear, turned to the right in three-quarter profile.
Reverse: VICTORI AAVGGGΙ= Victoria Augustorum [officina]
I = Victory of the Augusti .
A victory holds a tall, gemmed cross surmounted by a
Christogram. On the left in the field is a star. In the
exergue: CONOB.
Y. Nikolaou
Unpublished

102

Obverse: KERO HΘEI= Ku’ριε βοh’θει (Lord help).
Christ, enthroned and blessing, holds a closed, gem-studded
Gospel book. IC XC (the initials of Jesus Christ) in the field.
Reverse: ΛΛEZIΩ ΔECΠOTH TΩ KOMNHNΩ = To Alexios
Despotes the Komnenos, inscription arranged in columnar
fashion on either side. The emperor is crowned and wears a
divetesion (long silk tunic) and chlamys. He holds a scepter
and a globus cruciger. In the field, top right, the hand of
God (Manus Dei) blesses him.
Y. Nikolaou
Unpublished

49 –50. Hoards

49. “ Hoard Eleusis / 1885”

Anxiety and insecurity in times of war and crises lead people
to hide their valuables. Concealing coins and precious gold
and silver plates and jewelry in the ground or in secret vaults
in the home was the most common way of safeguarding
accumulated wealth in an emergency such as wars, invasions,
plagues, and natural disasters. The “treasures” of gold coins
(i.e., coins made of precious metal with high purchasing
power) are clearly a form of reserve. A collection of coins
that is hidden by someone in the hope of reclaiming them
once the danger or difficulty has passed and that is
rediscovered later is called a “hoard.” If things do not turn
out well for the owner of the hoard, then the collection of
coins is likely to be found many years later, either by chance
or in the course of systematic excavations.
The concealment of the “Hoard Eleusis / 1885” may have
been connected with the unrest created in the Byzantine
province of Hellas in the last quarter of the 6th century by
the waves of Slav invasions. A host of hoards of gold and
copper coins were hidden in Attica and the Peloponnese at
this time.
The “Hoard Thessaloniki / before 1948,” with coins for
the most part minted in that city, seems likely to express the
intense anxiety created throughout Illyricum by the Arab and
Slav attacks in the period 578–82. Its burial could also be
connected with the siege of Thessaloniki in September of 586.

The gold jewelry, silverware, and bronze seal were found by
chance in 1951 in a treasure with other similar objects in the
course of excavations on Lesbos in the Kratigos district just
outside the island’s capital, Mytilene. The same treasure also
contained thirty-two gold coins, four of the Emperor Phokas
(602–10) and twenty-eight of Herakleios (610–41), of which
the latest in date were struck between 616 and 625, giving the
terminus post quem for the concealment of the treasure.
Some of the gold jewelry exhibited here, such as the little
amulet with the embossed cross (ΒΧΜ 875, cat. no. 51d) and the
solid gold bracelets (ΒΧΜ 882 και ΒΧΜ 883, cat. nos. 51h–i)
represent types that were quite widespread in the 6th and 7th
centuries. By contrast, the chain with the round rinks and its
crescent-shaped pendant with the openwork decoration
(ΒΧΜ 879, cat. no. 51e), the almond-shaped buckle (ΒΧΜ 881,
cat. no. 51f), and the ellipsoid bracelet with the monogram
(ΒΧΜ 888, cat. no. 51g) are examples of relatively rare types of
jewelry and certainly not within the reach of ordinary people.
Moreover, the two stamped silver plates also belong to popular
types, as do the silver spoons (ΒΧΜ 901, ΒΧΜ 905, cat. nos.
51a–b). On the base of the smaller plate (ΒΧΜ 893, cat. no. 51k)
are five control stamps from the reign of Phokas that guarantee
the purity of the metal. The plate is decorated in the center with
a niello cross, while the trulla (ΒΧΜ 899, cat. no. 51j), with five
seals on the base dating it to the reign of Herakleios, has an
incised depiction of a naked Aphrodite on the handle. The
bronze seal (ΒΧΜ 909, cat. no. 51c) with the embossed
monogram, which may read “Μαυρικi’ου” (of Maurikios) or
“Σταυρακi’ου” (of Staurakios), belonged to an official, probably
a consul, as can be deduced from the depiction on the handle of
an eagle with wings outspread, a motif that seems likely to be
associated with consular rank.

The Kratigos find belongs to the group of treasure that includes
other precious objects (such as silver plates and gold jewelry) beside
coins. The find site must have been part of the estate of a wealthy,
aristocratic family that numbered high public officials among its
members, as the gold buckles, the gold monogrammed bracelet and
the bronze seal indicate. Although the owners of the treasure were
Christians, as the decoration on the silver plates and the gold amulet
demonstrate, they still liked mythological subjects, as did most of
the upper classes in this period. Similarly, they preserved many of the
ideas of pre-Christian societies, relating to the apotropaic and
supernatural properties of certain artifacts, such as amulets, which
occupy an important place in the jewelry of the treasure (four out of
twenty-two pieces). The concealment of the treasure in the first
decades of the 7th century is likely to have been connected with
hostile threats and the raids experienced in the eastern part of the
empire and, of course, throughout the Asia Minor peninsula and the
islands of the eastern Aegean. It is not impossible, as has been
suggested, that the owners of the treasure fled in haste from the Asia
Minor coast to Lesbos, where they hid their treasure, hoping to
return some day and retrieve it. But, of course, this never happened.
E. Chalkia
Bibliography
Touratsoglou-Chalkia 2008, 60–61, 68–69, 73–77, 82–83, 100 –103, 114–15,
118–21.

105

a surviving mold, used for the mass production of identical
rectangular dishes, now at the Römisch-Germanisches Zentral­
museum in Mainz. According to this mold, the scene included
another official, on the left side of the tribunal, wearing a mantle
fastened with a fibula and holding a short scepter with his right
hand. The two venatores in the arena, carrying a spear and a
shield respectively, were surrounded by a stag and an ostrich. A
small part of the stag’s antlers is also visible on the Benaki sherd,
just below the ancient repair, thus verifying that the scene on
this fragment was indeed made from an almost identical mold.
A significant difference between the Benaki dish and the Mainz
mold is the inclusion of the inscription MUNERA XXX on the
latter, above the tribunal, a detail that is clearly missing from the
present example. The Mainz mold comes from El Djem, in
Tunisia, a major center for the production of red slipware in the
late 4th and early 5th centuries. The same provenance is possible
for the Benaki fragment as well.
The decoration of this type of dish was repeated for mass
production and somewhat simplified the scenic representations
of public spectacles that decorated the sumptuous and exclusive
consular diptychs carved in ivory.
A. Drandaki
Bibliography
Age of Spirituality 1979, 92–93, no. 83 [S. R. Zwirn]; Garbsch 1980,
173 E2, 178, fig. 16; on the mold now in the Römisch-Germanisches

The sherd comes from a rectangular dish (lanx quadrata), made
of the fine red slipware for which the North African workshops
became famous in Late Antiquity throughout the Roman world.
An ancient repair made of lead, visible on the lower right of the
sherd, bears witness to the long-lasting appreciation the owners
had for this type of high-quality pottery.
Only the upper right part of the composition is preserved,
showing a tribunal with three seated officials wearing senatorial
togas. The higher social and political status of the central figure
is visually underlined by his larger scale, the crown on his head
and the mappa he carries, the cloth in his right hand with which
the beginning of the games in the circus and the amphitheater
was being signaled. The three officials are seated behind an
elaborately decorated parapet. To their left, another crowned
official presents unfolded for display the valuable garment
offered to the victorious venator, as part of his prize. Two
venatores are partly preserved standing in the arena below the
tribunal, the one to the right carrying a rectangular shield.
The missing parts of the scene that once decorated the
Benaki dish can be reconstructed fairly accurately on the basis of

Only the upper part of the handle (i.e., about half of it) survives.
Cast in a mold, it has openwork decoration consisting of two
horses resting their heads against a palm tree. The whole scene is
enclosed in a narrow band, which forms a small conical
out­growth at the top. Judging by an identical handle in the
Museum of the Campo Santo Teutonico in Rome, the ellipsoid
band ended in a fine string at the bottom where it was soldered
to the lamp, whereas the trunk of the tree and the horses’ legs
were attached to a corded horizontal spur, which sprang from
just above the base of the handle. A very interesting feature is the
engraved motifs on the horses’ flanks, recalling the marks
actually branded with hot irons onto various parts of the bodies
of horses competing in the hippodrome, both as apotropaic
symbols and for good luck. Moreover, the presence of the palm,
a symbol of victory, between the two animals, represents success
in equestrian races.
In the 4th century, scenes featuring winning horses and the
hippodrome in general had widespread distribution; this is
related to the intense popularity of the contests in the hippodrome
and the mania for horses at that time.
The fact that the handle with the victorious horses was found
at Olympia, the city where the Olympic Games were held, at least
up to the late 4th century but very probably even after they were
banned in 393, cannot be unrelated to the continuation of ancient
customs, despite the fact that the city had begun to be Christianized.
Bibliography

The bottom of an open glass vessel has been preserved with a
depiction of a quadriga. The glass vessel was broken along the
ring encircling the base, and the cut was then probably grozed,
so that the surviving part takes the form of a medallion. The
paint has flaked off or been completely erased over a large part
of the scene. On the left-hand side, traces of the charioteer are
preserved. He holds a wreath in his right hand and in his left a
palm, both symbols of victory. The horses are depicted in
motion, rearing up on their hind legs in a triumphal pose. In the
lower part the names of the charioteer, Chryse, and the names of
the four horses, Hylas, Evangelos, Italos, and Adrias, are
inscribed in black paint.
The Benaki Museum glass medallion is one of the few
examples of late Roman glassware with cold-painted decoration
on the outside of the bottom. Cold-painting makes the colors
more fragile, which probably accounts for the extensive damage
to the scene. In any case, this delicate form of decoration suggests
that the vessel was not intended for everyday use, but was rather
a decorative object for display purposes. There are several
examples of later Roman glassware with similar decoration
either painted or incised.
The hippodrome was a fundamental feature of the urban
fabric, and the importance of the contests for the social and
political life of a city is attested not only in documentary sources
and the corresponding architectural remains, but also by a host
of objects with imagery relating to the contests and spectacles of
the hippodrome. Similar depictions of victorious quadrigas were
the subject of late Roman mosaics, as two almost identical
scenes on 3rd- and 4th-century mosaics in Argos and Thessaloniki
attest. Indeed, the names of the horses and the charioteer were
often inscribed on these scenes. Apart from numerous scenes on
mosaic pavements, such as those mentioned above, similar
decoration is found on contorniates and metalwork, as well as
on more mass-produced ceramics.
A. Drandaki
Bibliography
Clairmont 1977, 22, no. 66. See also Age of Spirituality 1979, nos. 89–
98; Dunbabin 1982; Glass Cosmos 2010, 116.

The vessel has been broken, and many large pieces are missing.
This glass beaker shows the figure of a charioteer being
pulled by four horses racing in a hippodrome. The image has
been etched into the surface of the glass and rendered in a
stylized fashion. The figure is depicted in his chariot looking
back over his shoulder, presumably to a competitor he has
passed, and he gestures with one hand. Behind him is an abstract
architectural representation that is difficult to interpret; it is
possible that it is supposed to depict the carceres (monumental
starting gate) of the hippodrome. The charioteer holds the reins
with his other hand as his four horses charge ahead. The horses
give the impression of moving forward by their diagonal
placement, the hoofs of their front legs raised high and their
back legs stretching out behind them. They are shown with
plumed headdresses and rings encircling the bottom of their legs.
Another figure is partially intact, and the top of a palm branch,
symbolizing victory, can be seen. Toward the bottom of the
vessel is a band of hatched lines, the top band inscribed in Greek
with the name of the charioteer ΕVΤVΧ (Euthyches or
Eutychides) and the names of his horses, three of which can still
be read: ΑΡΕΘΟVC (Arethous, named after the rapid spring),
ΝΙΛΟC (Nilos, named after the Nile River), and ΠVΡΙΠΝΟVC
(Pyripnous, meaning fire-breather). Objects like this glass beaker
demonstrate the popularity of the spectacle of the hippodrome
and the notoriety that could be gained by successful charioteers.

Preserved intact with just a small part missing on the lower
right-hand side.
Inscribed copper plaque with a record of the names of
Olympic champions from the 1st century bc to 385 (the 291st
Olympiad), which gives us the latest date for the holding of the
Olympic Games in antiquity known to date, just eight years
before Theodosios I issued the edict prohibiting them in 393.
The names are inscribed for different periods and with large
intervals between them. At the bottom of the plaque are two
incised wreaths. It must be the official record of victors belonging
to some athletes’ guild.
G. Chatzi-Spiliopoulou

Profile portraits of a couple face each other with a small cross
placed just above their foreheads. The names of man and wife
appear along the edges, but the letters are in reverse, signaling
that the deeply carved bezel served as a seal—the ring would be
pressed into a soft material such as wax or clay, leaving an image
in relief. This image would have the man on the right and the
woman on the left, the usual placement on marriage rings, and
the letters in proper reading order: ARICTOFANHC, up the left
side and along the top; OUIGIL(a)NTIA (the first alpha having
been left out), across the top then down the right side. This is a
rare instance of a marriage ring executed in such deep intaglio,
suggesting that it was an important instrument for sealing
documents or household items, and possibly both. The fact that
it weighs almost the equivalent of five solidi (the solidus was the
gold coin of exchange) reflects its very high value and suggests,
although it cannot be proven, that it was part of the nuptial
donation (from husband to wife) or dowry contract.
The double-profile portrait ring is an inheritance from
Roman usage, but the hairstyles of the figures place the ring in
the period of the Theodosian emperors and empresses (379–457),
most likely in the early 5th century. The prominent fibula that
Aristophanes wears on his right shoulder (in the “corrected”
impression) is a sign of his high social status.
In its direct way of adapting traditional Roman marital
imagery for a Christianized society, this ring stands at the beginning
of a development that will continue over the next three hundred
years, leading to the fully formulated Christian marriage ring type
(see cat. nos. 59, 60). This is one of the finest intaglio rings of its time.
S. Zwirn

Preserved in fairly good condition. The surface of the bezel is
somewhat damaged by use.
The hoop is cylindrical in cross-section, and attached to it is
a disc-shaped bezel with a scene probably stamped with a mold.
The image is encircled by a wavy line. Two busts are depicted on
either side of a Latin cross with a long upright. The facial
features of the two figures cannot be discerned; nevertheless, it is
clear that there is a male figure on the left and a female figure on
the right. The hair of both figures is depicted in stylized fashion
and looks more like some sort of head covering than hair. Details
of the draperies are also lacking, apart from the appearance of
what is probably a clasp on the right shoulder of the male figure.
The inscription ΧΑΡΙC (grace) appears below the busts.
Given the paired figures, the ring could be a wedding ring,
an interpretation reinforced by the presence of the inscription
ΧΑΡΙC, which is found on such rings either alone or as ΘΕΟΥ
ΧΑΡΙC (the grace of God). In this case, the couple would be
newlyweds under the protection of the cross. However, a
different interpretation proposed for these rings identifies the
two figures with Constantine and Helena.
The iconographical model for the scene undoubtedly goes
back to coin imagery depicting two emperors on either side of a
cross, which first appeared in 527 on coins of the emperors Justin
I and Justinian I. Initially, the cross between the figures was
small and on a level with their heads, whereas on coins of
Constantine IV and those from the second reign of Justinian II,
it was bigger and divided the two figures.
The closest iconographical parallels for the Canellopoulos
Museum ring are found on the medallions of a necklace from
Mersina, dated to the late 6th century.
A. Zarkadas

Except for missing areas of niello in the figures, the condition of
this ring is excellent.
In contrast to the marriage ring inscribed for Aristophanes
and Vigilantia (cat. no. 57), whose religious affiliation is
expressed by a small cross, this ring reflects a dominant Christian
ideology. A cross and the bust of Christ with a prominent crosshalo form the central axis on the bezel, flanked by anonymous
frontal busts of a bride and groom. Crowns, elements of the
wedding ceremony, appear above the heads of the couple and
OMONOIA—harmony or concord—is inscribed below a fine line.
The inlay material is niello, an alloy of silver, sulfur, and traces of
other metals, which renders a shiny black surface when heated.
That the bride and groom are not named suggests the ring
is of a general type made for any couple who could afford such
a luxury. The couple did share with other members of society
the belief that their commitment was blessed by Christ and that
matrimony was a religious contract witnessed by the church as
symbolized by the cross. Although it was not until the reign of
emperor Leo VI (886–912) that marriage was required to take
place in a church, this and many related rings reveal that the
ceremony—which probably took place in a home—was understood
in clearly religious terms well before the statute was written.
OMONOIA is the most frequent inscription on marriage
rings of this period. It conveys the hope for concord in the bond
of marriage, and it has been persuasively argued that it also
functioned as an amuletic invocation against ill-intentioned
wishes for a couple’s marriage. In this respect, the inscription on
the ring had an apotropaic function, following earlier pagan and
Christian practices when images, words, or a combination of the
two were worn to protect the wearer.
S. Zwirn

The ring has lost most of its niello inlay and the hoop is broken
through behind the bezel. Overall, it is in fair condition.
Like the ring inscribed OMONOIA (cat. no. 59), this
marriage ring has a large cross with the bust of Christ above it
forming the central axis of the bezel. To the left and right of the
cross are busts of the bride and groom, a generic couple without
names. The bride seems to wear a crown with three projecting
elements, while an arc over the groom’s head may indicate his
crown. QEOU (of God) flanks the bust of Christ and CARIC
(grace) appears in the lower portion of the bezel.
Little is known about how rings were used in the ritual of
marriage during the early Byzantine period. Because of the lack
of information, it may be supposed that some rings had a role in
betrothal ceremonies, as well as at marriages. The imagery and
the inscriptions communicate across the centuries some of the
fundamental ideas and hopes associated with this significant
event in which both the man and the woman changed social status.
Although CARIC has been connected to ideas associated
with health, the grace of God seems rather to be a quality of
physical or social (and perhaps even intellectual) charm. An
aspect that might be considered part of the attraction between
the soon-to-be-wed, or the newlyweds, is understood as coming
from and under the protection of Christ and the cross. Those
aspects most associated with marriage through the inscriptional
evidence on rings—harmony, grace, and health—seem to be
invoked subtly for opposing reasons: to endow the newly
married couple with these qualities and to invoke the protection
of Christ and the cross against any force that might undermine
those very qualities. The image(s) and word(s) thus served a
double function at this crucial moment in the young couple’s life.
S. Zwirn

The circular hoop has bead-and-reel relief decoration. The
pierced, stilted, cylindrical bezel is of a type rarely encountered
and is made up of two circular discs, which are joined together
with eight column-shaped supports. The upper disc has the
inscription ΥΓΙΑ ΜΑΚΕΔΟΝΙΩ ([good] health to Makedonios),
carved in reverse in four lines, which suggests that the ring was
used as a seal.
At the same time the inscribed invocation on the ring
endows it with apotropaic properties, which protects its owner
from all sorts of illnesses. The custom of wearing amuletic
jewelry, often with magic symbols or phrases intended to drive
away evil and ill health, goes back to antiquity, a practice also
mentioned by ancient authors, who often lampoon it.
Jewelry with similar invocatory inscriptions referring to the
health, happiness, and longevity of their owners, written in
Greek or Latin or sometimes in a hybrid language, is found from
the 3rd to the 6th century.
S. Gerogiorgi
Bibliography
Helleniko kosmema 1997, 179, no. 192; Yeroulanou 1999, 165;

This ring consists of a broad hoop with two grooves encircling it
and with finely incised lines decorating the space between them.
A bunch of grapes is depicted on each side up to the top of the
bezel. The grapes have been rendered using the technique of
granulation, whereas the leaves are in relief. The elliptical bezel
is decorated with a concave fish and three concave Maltese
crosses. On the vertical surface of the bezel is a groove decorated
with very fine incised lines. At the point where the bezel is
attached to the hoop are two rows of relief spherules bordered
on either side by bunches of grapes. The hoop is slightly squashed
at the bottom, at the point facing the bezel.
This particular type of ring is part of a category of simple
jewelry that either included wedding rings or took the form of
signet rings with the name of the head of the family. Their
simplicity and the use, in the former case, of Christian symbols,
such as a fish, an anchor, or birds, are their main characteristics.
The use of simple pieces of jewelry reflects a more widespread
ethos, prevalent in the early years of Christianity, whereby the
Church Fathers discouraged the generalized use of elaborate finery.

The semicircular hook is attached to the crescent-shaped hoop,
which has pierced and granular decoration in two registers. In
the lower register, two vine scrolls and bunches of grapes
alternate with pecking peacocks, while in the upper register the
same vine scroll motif encircles an equal-armed cross and
inscribes it in a circle. Six small gold beads are attached to the
outer edge of the hoop.
As regards the shape and the techniques used in its
production, this type of earring is very widespread in the 6th and
7th centuries, though the decorative motifs can vary a good deal.
On this earring the cross, the symbol par excellence of
Christianity, is found side by side with motifs popular in
antiquity that were adopted and incorporated into Christian
iconography. The vine, the plant sacred to the god Dionysos,
acquired new symbolism in the new religion, signifying Christ,
while the grapes became the Apostles and the Christian believers.
The peacock, sacred to the goddess Hera, became in Christian
times a symbol of everlasting life and heavenly bliss. Their
presence on the earring together with the cross can be interpreted
as a symbolic depiction of the Resurrection.

Each earring consists of a fine ring, which ends in a hook and a
catch, which form the fastening. On the upper part of each ring
is attached an unusual shaped mount filled with blue glass. From
the lower part hang pear-shaped pendants in the same color
paste strung on wire chains.
This type of earring with the simple, ring-shaped hook
continues the Hellenistic tradition with some modifications. In the
early Christian period it is found in different versions, as regards
decoration and the stringing of the stones.
Clement of Alexandria, one of the great Church Fathers,
urged women to shun all luxury, to embrace simplicity and to be
pious (Paedagogus ΙΙΙ, ΙΒ, 20ff.), while he discouraged them
from piercing their ears and wearing earrings: “and let not their
ears be pierced, contrary to nature, in order to attach to them
studs and pendant earrings” (ibid., 62ff.). Despite that, the large
number of earrings that have survived by comparison with other
types of jewelry, indicates that they were women’s favorite form
of ornament; this means that the injunctions of Clement of
Alexandria and of the other Church Fathers fell on deaf ears.
S. Gerogiorgi

A pair of gold earrings linked by a chain. Each earring consists
of an open hoop made from a circular gold rod, one end of
which ends in a sphere with a hole in it, into which the other end
of the hoop fits. To each large hoop three smaller ones are
attached from which hang braided chains ending in yet smaller
rings. A gold ball marks the point at which each ring is attached
to a hoop. A corrugated strip of gold is wrapped around the end
of the chain and secures the suspension hook. A wire, to which
are fixed a gold ball and a pearl, is suspended from the bottom
ring. From the innermost ring on each hoop hangs a chain that
has five regularly spaced discs with two tiny spheres on each rim.
From the middle disc hangs an identical piece of chain with a
disc in the middle, to which is attached a thin strip of gold
ending in a hook, from which some precious stone or amulet
probably once hung. When worn, this piece of jewelry gave the
impression of a necklace combined with earrings. This fashion
of combining the two individual elements into one piece of
jewelry is known from antiquity and continues to be found in
the work of modern Greek silversmiths.
A. Gadolou

Two identical gold armlets. The bands are made of two solid
cylindrical small tubes, round in cross-section and divided into
three parts. The ends of each piece are wound with small ridged
gold sheet-strips for attachment. Between the small tubes are set
five upright discs at regular intervals: one disc is in the middle of
the back of the bracelet, while two others have been set in each
of the two adjacent parts. In the center, on the front, there is a
circular receptacle on a two-stepped, hexagonal base. A
tri­angular opening in the lower part of this base reveals that the
interior was filled with some porous material, which has a very
small hole in it. The bracelet is fastened at two points with
double swivels with semicircular calyciform ends (one of them is
missing on both armlets).
The armlets in the Stathatos Collection are of Syrian manu­
facture and find their closest parallels in two similar armlets in
New York (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 17.190.2054) and
Berlin (Museum für Byzantinische Kunst, 4926). The receptacles
on these two bracelets most probably contained holy relics to
protect their owners. It is likely that the same applied to the
examples in Athens, although it has also been proposed that
their receptacles held some sort of resin, inserted after soldering
to avoid distorting the piece of jewelry.
C. Avronidaki

Deposits between ridges. Slightly abraded, flaked and chipped in
places.
The armlet, made from a rod of light green glass, is flattened
and ellipsoid in cross-section. It has horizontal ridges and is
narrower and smooth at the joint.
Cheap pieces of finery for young people and the less welloff, glass bracelets were particularly widespread as early as the
empire and in the early Christian period. They were made from
glass rods, semicircular or circular in cross-section and in different
colors, and they often remain undecorated or decorated with
imprinted marks, cuttings, and inlay. The production of glass
bracelets continued into the middle Byzantine period.
C. Avronidaki
Unpublished

Gold fibula with head of rock crystal. Complete, apart from a
small part of the tip.
A triple granulated ring with spherules in relief divides the
pin of the fibula into two parts. The lower part is decorated with
very fine gold wire wound tightly around the middle part of the
pin. The upper part is relief and ends in a double scroll, like an
Ionic capital. To the head of the fibula is attached a bird in rock
crystal set in the end of the shaft. The bird’s inlaid eyes are missing.
G. Kavvadias
Bibliography
Stathatos Collection III 1963, 282, no. 201, pl. xli; Papanikola-Bakirtzi
2002, 398–99, no. 497 [I. P. Varalis] (on Byzantine fibulae).

The necklace consists of a gold chain and alternating pearls,
glass paste, and semiprecious stones. To be precise, there are
eleven pearls of unequal size, six flattened, spherical beads made
of light blue glass paste, and seven cylindrical, irregularly cut
beads made of emeralds. The chain is made up of doubled wire
links and terminates at one end in a hook and at the other in a
large disc decorated with cloisonné enamel. Two smaller, single
links, soldered to the disc diametrically opposite one another,
were used to attach the hook and to join onto the chain,
respectively. The disc, which acts as the clasp for the necklace, is
made of flat sheet gold on the base and is decorated with gold
and enamel on the top. It is edged with two bands, of which the

outer one has granular decoration. The inner one has a pierced
decorative motif made up of four diametrically opposed
palmettes, alternating at their bases with small, flattened discs
and joined at the top to form the central circle. The palmettes
and the discs are decorated with green enamel, and the spaces
between them are filled with red enamel.
The necklace belongs to a type that was very widespread
throughout the empire from as early as the Roman period,
characterized by the inclusion in a gold chain of alternating
metals, stones, or paste elements. The diametrically opposed
palmettes on the clasp and the alternating colors of the enamel,
which probably make up a cruciform decorative motif, date the
necklace to the Byzantine period, when the motif of the cross
replaced the Roman wheel on the decoration of the clasp.
A. Zarkadas
Unpublished

The necklace from Cyprus has been interpreted as a diadem
based on 4th-century representations on coins and statues or
as an ornament sewn to a ceremonial robe. This view, supported
by the absence of clasps and the presence of side holes and wire
frames at the back of the elements, is corroborated by its recovery from a tomb together with more jewelry and personal items
attributed to a woman of the higher social rank. Comparanda in
Athens, the Louvre, and the Walters Art Museum show piercedwork jewelry mounted with stones.

The necklace is well preserved; twelve precious stones are missing
and there is no trace of a clasp.
The necklace is composed of six rectangular plaques in
openwork technique decorated with fine scrolls and sapphires in
oval settings. They alternate with fifteen figure-of-eight elements,
mounted with emeralds and garnets, which are separated in
between by a pearl threaded on gold wire. A plaque with a
rectangular emerald and an attached pendant below form the
centerpiece of the necklace.
This unique item is a fine example of the technique often
referred to as opus interrasile, a term originating with Pliny
(Natural History XII.94), although the Greek term diatreta
(pierced) is also used as more accurate. It encompasses a
distinctive category of jewelry encountered in Mediterranean
regions from the 3rd to the 7th century, characterized by thin
gold sheets, creating a lace-like effect, often combined with
precious stones. Regional workshops remain unidentified but
the wide distribution of types attests to innovations introduced,
at periods of economic paucity, by goldsmiths who continued to
draw on Hellenistic and late Roman traditions for shapes and
decorative motifs.

Cornelian and gold amulet. Intact.
Ellipsoid in shape, the amulet is flat on one side and curved
on the other. On the curved surface is a bust of Christ
Pantokrator. On either side of the head are the letters ΙC and XC
(the abbreviation for Jesus Christ). The flat side is inlaid with a
gold cross with pyramidal cross-arms. At the center of the cross
is a semiprecious, green lenticular stone. Around the edge the
mount of fine gold wire ends in a shaft with a suspension hook.
G. Kavvadias
Unpublished

Preserved in good condition, apart from a small piece of gold
missing from the right side of the upper cross arm and a small
hole, which has been sealed with white amalgam, on the back of
the right-hand cross-arm.
The cross has an integral suspension ring. All four crossarms, the lower one slightly elongated, are rounded and display
a red stone; a smaller cross with flared arms made of the same
red stone occupies the central point. The back is undecorated.
The cross is an exceptional example of the goldsmith’s art
of the 5th century, in which gold is harmoniously combined with
precious stones. Similar crosses, symbols of Christianity and
strongly talismanic in nature, seem to have been widely dis­tributed
in the eastern empire between the 5th and 7th centuries.
E. Vivliodetis
Unpublished

The buckle consists of an ellipsoid hoop with a movable tongue
in the shape of a drop and a lyre-shaped belt plate. The hoop is
attached to the plate by seven spherules, of which the middle
ones can be seen only from the back and hold the tongue in
place; the plate and the hoop are attached to the next two
spherules and the outside ones. On the back of the plate, three
rings—one in the center of the lower part and two at the corners
of the upper part—were used to attach the belt. The cast plate,
with a solid, concave back, is divided into two parts on the
upper face. A large, vertical, drop-shaped element is decorated
with seven petals in relief with a pierced area in the center
decorated with geometric motifs. The other two reversed
elements are smaller and decorated with three petals. Between
these and the spherules is a pierced plate decorated with
geometric motifs. The band surrounding the decorative elements
of the plate has rope decoration.
The buckle belongs to the type known as lyre-shaped
buckles, usually made of gold or bronze and with many
variations in decorative motifs and techniques. This type was
widespread, especially in the 6th and 7th centuries, throughout
the Byzantine empire. Buckles of this type are now considered

The comb is rectangular and bordered by two sets of teeth, thick
and spaced at one end and fine and dense at the other. Certain
losses of teeth or parts of teeth do not affect the impression of its
good condition and the quality of its decoration. The per­sonifications of the capital cities of the Roman Empire, seated under
ciboria, are represented in low relief on either side of the compact
core. The goddess Roma is typically rendered as a helmeted
Amazon holding a spear and a globe, and the Tyche of
Constantinople has the standard turreted crown on her head
and holds a torch and a cornucopia.

Although the comb was acquired from the art market, its
provenance from Coptic Egypt is acknowledged. The comb
displays the characteristic features of the well-known wooden
compact combs (see Papanikola-Bakirtzi 2002, no. 632 [I. D.
Varalis]). It is, however, one of the few combs made of ivory
that have come down to us (cf. Volbach 1976, nos. 88–88c,
202–6; Caillet 1985, no. 51; Ägypten 1996, no. 202 [M. von
Falck]; L’art copte 2000, no. 277 [M.-H. Rutschowskaya]). The
portrayal of Rome and Constantinople is an exceptional
decoration inspired by imperial iconography, which makes the
comb unique of its type. The representations of the two deities
originate from late 4th- or early 5th-century models, like the
silver gilded statuettes from the Esquiline treasure (Cormack –
Vassilaki 2008, no. 10 [M. Mundell Mango]), but certain details
point to a date in the second half of the 6th century: the ciboria
are similar to those of a comb at the Coptic Museum, Cairo, and
a pyxis at the British Museum, London (Volbach 1976, nos. 204
and 167, respectively). Moreover, the close stylistic affinities
with a bone pyxis lid found on the floor of a house at Alexandria,
dated to the later 6th century and the first half of the 7th
(Rodziewicz 1984, 243–45, fig. 169; Rodziewicz 1998, 143, fig. 6),
suggest that the comb may also have been produced by an ivory
and bone workshop of this city (Varalis 2002). It is unknown if
this comb was intended for daily use for cleaning the hair,
making it tidy, and combing off lice and dirt, but the relatively
precious material and its unequaled decoration suggest that it
was used as a marriage gift or a burial offering for a high-ranking
member of Alexandrian society.
I. D. Varalis
Bibliography
L’Art Byzantin 1964, no. 30 [A. Karakatsani]; Volbach 1976, no. 88b,
pl. 49; Splendeur de Byzance 1982, no. Iv.1 [L. Bouras]; Cutler 1984b,
56, 61, pl. vi; Bühl 1995, 156–57, figs. 81, 82; Delivorrias – Fotopoulos
1997, 177, figs. 301, 302; Papanikola-Bakirtzi 2002, no. 631
[I. D. Varalis]; Varalis 2002; Cormack – Vassilaki 2008, no. 167
[I. D. Varalis]; Istanbul 2010, no. 105.

A hole located near the edge and splits in the silver have been
repaired. The handle has been reattached. The club-shaped
soldering plates that form the feet of the handle are broken. The
surface of the reverse is pitted.
The front of the silver disc is slightly concave and would
have been highly polished into a reflective surface. The back of
the mirror has an incised circle marking its center and two
concentric circles near the edge. The handle, which widens
slightly in the middle, has been given the appearance of two
fingers extended outward from a center collar with a leaf design
chased in the surface. A raised rim is decorated with a tight,
overlapping pattern of leaves. The mirror was cast and turned
on a lathe, and the handle was also cast and then soldered to the
reverse.
The mirror may have been part of a hoard of silver
comprising numerous liturgical objects that was discovered in
1910, if not in Antioch, then in the general region. Christian
churches often owned vast amounts of precious objects and
other riches that were given as gifts from donors. The mirror, an
everyday object without religious purpose, was apparently
offered to a church, where it was stored for its monetary value.
At some point—possibly just before or after the area was
attacked—a hoard of silver objects was buried, including patens,
chalices, crosses, and other liturgical instruments, as well as this
mirror, and then was eventually abandoned.
K. Marsengill
Bibliography
Early Christian Art 1947, no. 393; Mango 1986, 213, cat. 48; Mango
2003, 72–73, fig. 9.20.

The amulet consists of two separate thin sheets of copper alloy,
ellipsoid in shape, displaying stamped decoration imprinted
using a mold. On one side on a roundel with granular decoration
the “much suffering eye” (πολυπαθh’ς οφθαλμo’ς) is surrounded
by hostile symbols, such as a trident and two daggers, and
threatening beasts, such as a lion, leopard, snake, scorpion, and
ibis. In the upper part, the amulet is inscribed ΚΥΡΙΕ ΒΟΗΘΙ
(Lord help!) and there are crosses lower down to right and left.
On the other side, in a similar roundel with granulation, a haloed
horseman is depicted in military dress, riding a horse that is
galloping toward the right. He holds a spear ending in a cross
and is killing a female demon, which lies supine under the horse’s
hooves. Lower down, a quadruped, probably a lion, is racing as
swiftly as the horse. At the top on the right is a star. The much
suffering eye and the holy rider, very common motifs in early
Christian art, mainly on objects from Egypt, Syria, and Palestine,
are expressions of strength and apotropaic powers. The much
suffering eye is encountered for the first time in the Testament of
Solomon, a text of the 3rd century: “I am called Phthenoth, I
[can] cast the evil eye on any man, [and] therefore I am frustrated
by representations of the much suffering eye” (Εγw’ Φθηνθ
καλοu’μαι, βασκαi’νω παντi’ ανθρw’πω, καταργεi’ με ουν ο
οφθαλμo’ς πολυπαθh’ς εγχαραττo’μενος, PG 122, 1345). Thus,
its depiction was aimed at getting rid of the evil eye. The motif
of the holy rider was not intended to depict a particular person
or some historical event, but it invoked the power to win and in
broader terms the victory of good over evil. In the early Christian
period the holy rider is identified with King Solomon or, more
rarely, with St. Sissinios, who killed Alabasdria, or Gyllou, who
slaughtered newborn babies, mainly males.
P. Kambanis
Bibliography
Tsolozides Collection 2001, 17–18, no. 3; L’approccio 2002, 20–21,
no. 5; Kambanis 2002, 92–95; Kambanis 2002b 138, no. 178; Kambanis
2006, 11–30.

120

The pendant consists of two horseshoe-shaped sheets of copper
alloy joined with a hinge. A broad suspension hoop is held in
place by a pin. The decoration is incised. There is a symbolic
image with two confronted birds on the outer face of both parts.
These are the birds of life, a subject found very frequently in
Coptic art. On one of the two inner faces is depicted a bust of a
young, beardless Christ with a cruciform halo, surrounded by
the triumphal phrase ΗC/ΧC – ΝΗ/ΚΑ (Jesus Christ conquers).
The other face bears the inscribed invocation + ΚΕ ΒΟΗ / ΘΗ
ΤΟΝ ΔΟ/ΛΟC ΝΗ / ΚΗΤΑΝ / ΑΜΗΝ (Lord help [thy] servant
Niketas amen).
P. Kambanis
Bibliography
Tsolozides Collection 2001, 29–30, no. 40; L’ approccio 2002, 33,
no. 42; Kambanis 2002b, 139, no. 179.

Broken in two parts and attached, some loss of stone material in
the lower right corner. Stone panel with a carved image of a
man, depicted frontally, on horseback, galloping to the right. He
wears a short tunic and a military cloak, which stream out
behind him to suggest movement. In his right hand, the arm
raised at a right angle, he holds a spear of which only a small
part survives.
The Holy Rider is recognizable in this scene, a common
motif above all in ancient funerary reliefs, in which the deceased
is rendered a hero and shown as responding to the invocations
of the faithful. This iconographic motif continued into the early
Christian period. Then the rider was identified with King
Solomon, who, thanks to the Archangel Gabriel, had acquired
the ability to annihilate demons. Scenes with horsemen, who are
frequently depicted killing demons, appear on early Christian
amulets with healing and apotropaic properties. This small stone
icon with its naive decoration was an object of personal devotion
and protected its owner from evil spirits.
The subject, which combines pagan and Christian elements,
is found mostly in the east on amulets of the 7th and 8th centuries
from Egypt and Cilicia, as well as on Coptic textiles of the same
period.
A. Tzitzibassi

In relatively good condition.
Given its tiny diameter, this bracelet must have been
intended for a child or for the slim arm of a woman. Made of
iron alloy, it is composed of four circular medallions joined
together with alternating rhombuses and squares. The medallions
depict four roughly carved and very stylized images of the Holy
Rider striking a prostrate demon with his sword, a Myrrophore
at the Tomb, the Raising of Lazarus, and finally an unidentified
symbol. According to one version, the symbol should be
identified as an aphlaston, the fan-shaped stern post of ancient
ships, which in the Late Antique period became a talisman for
safe journeys (Vikan 1991–92, 33–34; Vikan 1991, 90ff.). But a
more convincing explanation is that the symbol depicts the
Chnoubis, the Greco-Egyptian talismanic device against
abdominal and uterine complaints (Bonner 1950, 54ff.; Vikan
1984, 75ff.; Hellenika kosmemata 1999, 341).
This is one of more than twenty surviving examples of a
type of amulet-cum-bracelet of a magical therapeutic nature
connected with mementos from eastern shrines (Vikan 1984, 74ff.;
Vikan 1991–92; Kraus 2005–6). The Holy Rider, an especially
widespread apotropaic symbol in the early Byzantine period
(Walter 1989–90; Dauterman Maguire – Maguire – Duncan-Flowers
1989, 25–28; Spier 1993, 33ff.), and the Chnoubis, in particular,
give this piece of jewelry talismanic and healing properties.
Similarly, the depiction of a tomb with features that indicate
Christ’s tomb, as we know it from the ampullae from Monza
and Bobbio, reveal its relationship with the mementos from the
great shrines of the Holy Land.
V. Foskolou
Bibliography
Vikan 1991–92, 33–34, figs. 4a–d; Hellenika kosmemata 1999, 341,

This armband is made up of oval medallions linked together by
a thin band. Two sections are extant; one is missing and
presumably would have included another medallion. The
medallions are decorated with Christological and amuletic
motifs: an inscription with the first five words of Psalm 90, the
Annunciation, the Holy Rider (a simplified version of the image
of the entry into Jerusalem), the sign of the cross surrounded by
four dots, the aphlaston inscribed with the name of Solomon,
and finally an X within a circle set in a hexagon. The aphlaston
was the fan-shaped decoration affixed to the stern of ancient
ships. In antiquity, the aphlaston was taken as a trophy when a
ship was captured and thus became a symbol of victory. In the
armband, the Christian imagery is derived from representations
of holy sites found on pilgrimage art. Together with the magical
motifs, these scenes were understood to provide protection for
the wearer. In the same way, in the first medallion, the words
taken from Psalm 90: “He that Dwells in the Help of the
[Highest]” are to be seen as a form of incantation. The hatched
signs on the joining band, identifiable as neutralized Evil Eyes,
underscore the protective nature of the armband.
The Walters armband belongs to a group of armbands
sharing a similar design and motifs and made in Syria or
Palestine. The series includes two armbands at the Kelsey
Museum of Archaeology at the University of Michigan in Ann
Arbor (26131 and 26160); one in a private collection in Jerusalem;
two at the British Museum, London (albeit in a fragmentary
state, AF289 and 256); and one at the Louvre Museum, Paris
(BR4329).
M. Bagnoli
Bibliography
Vikan 1991–92, 33–51; Vikan 1991, 74–92; Vikan 2010, 66–69.

Loss of paint surface in the lower part and at the edges.
This wall painting decorated the interior of a vaulted tomb
measuring 2 by 1.40 meters and 1.50 meters in height. The painter
has tried very successfully to re-create a tomb chamber with all its
wall surfaces covered with precious marbles of various sorts and
colors. The colors used are black for the outlines, deep blue, deep
red, ochre, off-white, bright yellow, pink, a pinkish brown, and a
little bit of brown and white. On the side walls of the tomb ten
rectangular panels mimic polychrome sheets of marble set against
a uniform background of pink ochre with brown veining,
surrounded by off-white narrow bands. Imitation slabs of
off-white marble are painted on all the rest of the short eastern
wall of the tomb. On the western tympanum, the deceased’s
Christian faith is proclaimed with the depiction of an exceptionally
fine monogram of Christ within a circle. A Christogram in bright
yellow, inscribed in a red circle, is painted in the center of the
curved top of this wall.
To right and left of the Christogram the apocalyptic letters
Α (alpha) and Ω (omega) are depicted, also in yellow. The rest of
the tympanum is painted off-white with brown veining, while
vertical black lines indicate the joins in the marble panels
assembled to revet the whole surface. The vaulted ceiling has also

been painted with colored rectangular panels and a second
Christogram. The lavish ornament of the tomb was completed
by a plaster pulvinus (proskefalaio), a plaster stylobate, and a
mosaic floor made up of thick, marble tesserae. A coin minted in
Thessaloniki in 340–50 was found in the plaster of the pulvinus,
which dates the construction of the tomb.
The painter has attempted to imitate the technique of
marble revetment, which was a widespread practice at this
time—simple marble revetment and revetment using opus sectile,
which is found on the curved tympanum of the western wall and
in the “medallion” on the ceiling. The use of the Christogram is
encountered less frequently than the cross itself in the wall
paintings of tombs in Thessaloniki. In the iconography of the
early Christian tombs of Thessaloniki, the Christogram, when it
is used, is usually surrounded by a foliate wreath, which in this
instance is depicted in stylized fashion as a circle; it appears in
the 4th century, evidently following Constantine the Great’s
promotion of the symbol for reasons of political expediency.

Moreover, in the transition between the two worlds, the
Greco-Roman and the Christian, the tradition of funerary feasts
remained strong, and tableware found in funerary complexes is
linked with these rituals, whether they were found in or around
the graves. Even in the period to which these objects are dated,
they continued to symbolize the utensils needed for feasts, which
had to be provided for the afterlife in the Elysian Fields.
Finally, next to this cist grave a simple marble sarcophagus was
discovered, with no relief decoration and no grave goods inside.
These two funerary finds indicate the existence of a small
group of graves from the late Roman period belonging to
Veroia’s western necropolis, where up to now few funerary
monuments have been discovered, unlike those in the other
cemeteries of the ancient city.
V. Allamani-Souri

D. Makropoulou
Bibliography
Makropoulou 1989–90, 194–98.

82. Veroia: Cist Grave in the Western Necropolis
An unlooted cist grave, oriented north-south, was uncovered
during a rescue dig in the “Prometheas” district on the plot
belonging to a Mr. Radis, situated outside the western walls of
Veroia (originally Berroia). Its internal dimensions are 2.10
meters long by 1.15 meters wide, and the skeleton, found in a
supine position, survived from the pelvis down. The grave goods,
which included four glass vessels, two amphoras, a handleless
skyphos or goblet, and a bulbous flask (Antonaras 2009, 190,
365), were all found on a level with the skull, although this was
not preserved. It was not easy to determine the sex of the
deceased, as the articles concerned are not exclusively men’s or
women’s grave goods.
It is well known that in the Roman world glass vessels had
lost something of the luxury character, indicative of ease and
consequently economic prosperity, that they used to have in
earlier classical and even in Hellenistic times and had become
cheap articles of everyday use. The great increase in production
resulted in lowered prices and to their being used on a wider
scale, so that many Roman citizens could enjoy the special
qualities of glass at their dinner table. Especially the transparency
of these vessels allow them to enjoy the different colors of food
and drinks. Nevertheless, it is interesting that all the grave goods
in this tomb consist exclusively of glass tableware, items that
were in any case more expensive than their ceramic equivalents.
Perhaps, over and above the social status they imply, these must
be the result of contemporary fashion, as well as the personal
aesthetic tastes of the deceased’s family.

Intact, of light greenish, transparent glass made by free blowing
in a mold. A cylindrical body with a base that is conical inside,
having been compressed by the glassmaker’s barrel. Marked
traces of glass on the bottom indicating its use. It has flat
shoulders and a short, cylindrical neck with a flattened, ringshaped rim, given a polish by heating to high temperatures
(Isings 1957, 157, no. 127; Thessaloniki 1986, 125–28, fig. 125 [E.
Trakosopoulou]; Ignatiadou – Antonaras 2008, 23, fig. 2). Two
upright, banded handles are attached to the edges of the
shoulders, bent sharply back to join the sides of the neck before
being doubled back to end on the lower surface of the rim.

123

Amphoras of this type had particular dimensions corresponding to certain units of measurement. They are found from
the 2nd century ad (cf. Davidson-Weinberg – McClellan 1992,
no. 86, 118–19, pl. 67; Pantermalis 2001, fig. 13; Antonaras 2009,
224–26, 365) onward and were mainly used to decant wine for
the table.
V. Allamani-Souri

Intact with some milky weathering in places.
Eggshell-ware, semicircular skyphos without handles (Isings
1957, nos. 96, 113) with a slightly conical shape (DavidsonWeinberg – McClellan 1992, nos. 52, 63, 100, 105, pl. 59, fig. 63
[p. 107]); Ignatiadou – Antonaras 2008, 87) the result of initial
blowing in a mold. Light greenish, transparent glass with marked
diagonal grooves in parallel lines made with a mold. Crackedoff rim, everted. Small annular attached base of dark green glass.
Found in the same cist grave as the amphora (cat. no. 82a).
The skyphos has been dated to the late Roman period by
association with the other vessels in the hoard, although it could
be earlier. Semicircular skyphoi belong to the category of short
drinking vessels and are found from the 1st and 2nd centuries,
whereas from the 3rd century on they are almost exclusively
short items of tableware for drinking wine.
V. Allamani-Souri

The front part of the head and the neck of a beardless figure
make up both sides of the body and the low foot of the vessel.
The type is called “Janiform” because of the way the heads are
set back to back, recalling the two-faced Roman god Janus,
protector of roads and city gates.

124

The body of the jar is constructed in two pieces, made by
blowing in a bipartite mold, and then joined at the sides. The flat
bottom and the neck were made separately from plain blown
glass. The blowing of glass in a plaster or clay mold with relief
decoration on the inside, which is then stamped on the outer
surface of the vessel, is a complex technical process that is
designed to produce vessels imitating metalwork models with
embossed decoration. Glass vessels of this type were produced
from the end of the 1st century bc up to the late 4th century ad
in the glass workshops of the Syro-Palestinian region.
Glass perfume jars, like other forms of containers, were the
grave goods of choice in antiquity. They contained mixtures of
plant-based, aromatic essential oils and were used in the Roman
period for anointing the body of the deceased before burial.
They were superior to similar earthenware examples partly
because the material from which they were made was air- and
water-tight, and thus the composition and perfume of the
contents were preserved intact.
As capital of the province of Macedonia, Thessaloniki was
a key point on the via Egnatia, and with its port it constituted
one of the most important transit centers for trade in the
southern Balkan peninsular. The study of inscriptions and stone
sarcophaguses from the cemeteries there has shown that from
the mid-2nd century on an extremely large number of mercantile
families coming from the great cities of Italy and the east settled
in the city. The presence of imported glass vessels in Thessaloniki
may therefore be connected with this class of entrepreneurs.
K. Tzanavari
Bibliography
Arveiller-Dulong – Nenna 2005, 185–86, 224–29, nos. 655–68; Antonaras
2009, 324–6, type 146, no. 707, pl. xxiii; Stefanidou-Tiveriou 2010.

above any practical or symbolic significance attached to their
having been deposited in a tomb, the actual material of which
they were made has been associated with ideas about death and
immortality.
K. Tzanavari

Parts of the rim and the body are missing. The body of the vessel
is in two parts, made by blowing in a bipartite mold, and then
joined at the sides.
The front of the head and the neck of a beardless figure,
possibly a child, with a triangular chin, chubby cheeks, and curly
hair, make up the two sides of the body and the low foot of the
jar. The tall, cylindrical neck, which starts from the crown of the
head and ends in the broad rim, is nipped in halfway up its length.
Vessels made in this technique in transparent or opaque
glass are luxury objects, sometimes made using a tripartite
mould, and are found throughout the Roman world. Apart from
the Janus-faced heads or heads carved in the round, which are
thought to depict Eros or Dionysos, or others with negroid
features, frequently chosen decorative motifs include fruit, fish,
or animals, as well as more complex mythological scenes. As in
Syria and Palestine, vessels with similar subjects were made in
the 4th and 5th centuries in the western provinces of the Roman
Empire, probably in Gaul and Colonia (Cologne).
Perfume jars were deposited as grave goods, sometimes in
large numbers in a single funerary complex. However, over and

Intact. So-called Janiform glass perfume jar with infolded,
tubular, everted rim, cylindrical neck, and body in the form of
two back-to-back heads. The heads depict children with chubby
cheeks and curly hair. The jar was made by blowing in a
two-part mold, the seams of which are hidden in the locks of
the hair. The mold was open at the bottom, with the result that
the base of the jar was imprinted with the rough surface on
which it was placed while it was still warm and malleable.

125

Vessels of this type are a development of a type well known
from the 1st century which depicted an idealized form of
Dionysos /Antinoos or the Medusa, whereas in the 3rd and 4th
centuries they mainly depict cherubic children, as in our example,
and more rarely unidentified, beardless male figures, often with
negroid or grotesque features. It is the only type of fully moldblown vessels that continued to be produced in the Late Antique
period, apart from the Syro-Palestinian hexagonal and octagonal
glass pilgrim jars, eulogiae of the 6th and 7th centuries.
A. Antonaras
Bibliography
Papanikola-Bakirtzi 2002, 224, no. 258 [E. Marki]; Antonaras 2009,
324–26, no. 701.

Almost intact; slightly damaged on the rim of the foot. Traces of
salts on the outside of the vessel and on the inside of the foot.
The vessel has a stilted mouth, well-shaped rim, and vertical
ovaloid-section handle. Above and below the two extrusions of
the handle are two beautifully formed spirals. A biconvex ring
with a sharp edge emphasizes the join between the mouth and
the neck, which is decorated with rings in high relief. The most
prominent ring marks the joining of the neck and the belly. The
latter is spherical and decorated with an incised Latin cross with
flared terminals on its horizontal arms. Inside the cross is
decorated with stamped triangles. On either side of the vertical
cross-arm are arranged eight pairs of stamped concentric rings.
The lekythos stands on a tall, cylindrical foot with a rim that
slopes downward and a rough bottom.
This was a grave good that most probably contained
aromatic oil for the needs of the deceased in the afterlife,
following ancient custom. The shape of the vessels and the
spirals at the springing of the handles go back to classical
antiquity. The cross, given a prominent place on the body of the
lekythos, indicates the new faith.
E. Sarri
Unpublished
Bibliography
Kübler 1931, 86, pl. xxxvii-B; Chamilaki 2010, 585, 602, 606, 608,
figs. 2, 4 (ΜΣΧ 3307); Tzavella 2010, 659, 668, fig. 3β (Α 8120), 659–60,
667, fig. 2 (Α 8130).

The oinochoe is intact apart from a small part of the lip and
flaking on part of its surface.
It is made of greenish yellow glass. It has a spherical body,
shapeless flat base, and conical bottom, with sloping shoulder
and cylindrical neck ending in an extruded, annular lip. The
handle, banded with a wide groove down the middle, starts from
the upper part of the body but curves away from it to follow the
line of the neck before returning to attach under the lip. It recalls
Syro-Palestinian models but was probably produced locally
(cf. Whitehouse 2001, 182, no. 725; Antonaras 2009, 251, no. 93).
The vessel was a grave good in an oriented grave, which
contained five skeletons with the heads at the western edge, in
the Christian manner. The Hexamilion Wall, the early Byzantine
fortification (dating to the second decade of the 5th century) that
controlled access to the Peloponnese and the Corinthian Isthmus,
passes directly above the tomb.

At the bottom of the circular hoop of each earring is attached a
banded ring, surrounded by granular decoration. Stylized
bunches of grapes are attached midway down each side and at
the lowest point of the rim. Inside the ring, strips of sheet gold
are formed into spirals which form a cross. The central point of
the cross is covered by a knob, outlined with granulation.
Earrings of this type in simpler or more complicated form
are found throughout the Mediterranean region, mainly from
the second half of the 6th to the early 7th century onward, and a
similar pair of earrings, dated to the same period, is in the
collection of the Hungarian National Museum.
The cross, symbol of Christ’s Passion, functions as a means
of protection against evil. Combined with foliate, animal, and
geometric decoration, it is found as a decorative motif on jewelry
after the 5th century, endowing the objects with Christian and
amuletic content and at the same time indicating the religious
views of the wearer.
S. Gerogiorgi
Bibliography
Ross 1965, 66, no. 85, pl. xlviii; Garam 1980, 172, no. 13, pl. 7.4–5;
Ekato Chronia ChAE 1984, 52, no. 47; Helleniko kosmema 1997, 182,
no 198, Baldini-Lippolis 1999, 80, 101, no. 9; Papanikola-Bakirtzi 2002,
558, no. 77.

The upper part of the inscribed slab has not survived, so we do
not know the whole of the original text. Nevertheless, there can
be no doubt that the content of the inscription identifies it as a
funerary monument.
From the surviving lines it is clear that Zosime’s parents
have died and she has to give each of the men responsible for
laying their bodies to rest in the family tomb the sum of eight
assaria. The inscription does not indicate whether these were
local fossores (gravediggers), decani, or copiatae. It is worth
noting that the sum of eight assaria is too cheap to be the whole
payment for the funeral expenses. This small sum may have been
in the nature of a tip, considered adequate in the context of a
community in economic decline, as was the case in the Cyclades
at the turn of the 3rd century.
Another noteworthy feature of the inscription is the
expression: εν τω αιωνι μηδεν εχοντες η επανω
τεσσαρες πλακες (having nothing for all eternity other
than the four slabs above [us]), which departs radically from the
usual phraseology found on pagan funerary steles. There is
nothing, at least not nowadays, to point to either a Jewish or
a Christian provenance. The inscribed text reflects the wellknown Late Antique phenomenon of cultural osmosis and
mutual influence between two competing ideologies (pagan and
Christian), which continued to coexist relatively peacefully up to
the end of the 3rd century. This fragile balance was to be
disturbed soon after Diocletian (284–305) became emperor.
The funerary slab from Paros can be dated to the 3rd
century not only on the basis of the reference to assaria (this
term ceases to be mentioned in the sources in the reign of
Diocletian) or even the Christian-influenced phraseology of the
text, but also the carving of the letters, which is very archaizing.
The Paros inscription is in some ways a boundary marker
between the old order of things (i.e., of the Greco-Roman world)
and the rapidly expanding new religion, just before their final
showdown.
G. Kiourtzian

Inscribed stele, square in shape, lacking some of its upper part,
with relief depiction of three frontal figures in a frame. The
figure on the left with the right arm across the chest has been
identified as male on account of its size; it is accompanied by a
woman and child to the right.
Below the figures is carved a worn, three-line inscription:
K A Tw K M A E I T O Y
NTwTAXPwCOYΛHC
T - KOMBOCOYCwTHPIA

also found in other areas of the Greek world, such as in northern
Greece and Asia Minor, nevertheless the homogeneity of the
Nisyrian material, the standardization of the subjects, and the
similarity of the carving, combined with their distinctive,
provincial style, bear witness to their being produced locally. The
Nisyrian steles have been carved in imitation of Phrygian relief
steles of the same period, although the latter are distinguished by
the quality of their carving, their decorative nature, and the variety
of the symbols they use (Βairami – Katsioti 2006).
The first line of the Nisyrian inscription can be interpreted
as an abbreviated form of the Phrygian curse IOC NI CEMOYN
KNOYMANI ΚΑKΩΝ AΔΔAKET (ΕΤI)TΕΤΙΚΜΕΝΟΣ (ΑΔ)
ΕΙΤΟΥ (whoever does harm to the grave, let him be cursed)
(Ramsay 1905, 79–120). In Phrygia in this late period there are
many gravestones with curses against violators of tombs, which
are written in the Phrygian language using the Greek alphabet
(Calder 1911, 161–215; Calder 1913, 97–105; Calder 1956; Parrot
1939, 134ff.). Phrygian was spoken as far as Ikonion in the late
3rd century, and it was often written in Greek letters in
inscriptions, but there are no known surviving examples on
Greek soil.
The phrase XPΩ COYΛHC in the second line has been
interpreted on the basis of a Christian inscription from Rome,
on which the composite phrase EN XPΩ CYNΔOYΛHC
appears and where the letters XPΩ are interpreted as XP(ιστ)Ω
[in Christ], (IG XIV, no. 531, no. 535 [after ad 408], no. 1812).
Thus the Nisyrian inscription can be completed as follows:
KA(K)Ω[N AΔΔAKET ΕΤITΕΤΙ]KM[ENOΣ] A[Δ]EITOY—/
[ζω]Nτω(ν) τα(ς) εν Xρ(ιστ)ω σ(υνδ)ουλης/ [και]
τ[ου] Kομβόσου σωτηρια (.
.
. while living, for the
salvation of his wife [his fellow servant in Christ] and of the
grandson).
The significance of the inscription lies in the fact that the
married couple, who commissioned the tomb in their lifetime,
and their grandson were Christians in a period (2nd–3rd century)
when Christianity had yet to receive official recognition from the
Roman state. The Nisyrian stele belongs to a group of cryptoChristian monuments known mainly from Asia Minor, on which
the faith of the tombs’ owners is hinted at through symbols and
ambiguous inscriptions.
K. Baïrami – A. Katsioti
Bibliography
Pape – Benseler 1863–70; Ramsay 1905; Holl 1908; Calder 1911;

The Nisyrian stele is the product of a local workshop of the
Late Roman period (2nd–3rd c.), to which about fifty reliefs have
been attributed, mostly carved on re-used funerary slabs or
architectural members. The steles depict crude frontal figures with
one arm held on the chest and sometimes have Christian symbols
or inscriptions. The stylized figures are characteristic of the late
period to which they belong and, although similar gravestones are

Slab of gray stone, broken into two pieces of roughly equal
width and chipped in the lower left-hand corner and on the
right-hand side. In the middle of the slab, at the point where the
two pieces join, it has five shallow, unevenly spaced indentations
carved in it. Above them a two-line inscription has been carved
in capital letters: ΜΑΡΤΥΡ(ΩN)…/ ΙΩΑΝΝΟΥ ΛΟΥΚΑ
ΑΝΔΡΕΟΥ ΛΕΩΝΙΔΟY. . . ([Of the] martyrs John, Luke,
Andrew, Leonides …) The name of the fifth martyr, which
corresponds to the last indentation, has been lost, owing to
damage to the slab where it was carved. Another inscription, on
the lower part of the slab and underneath the indentations,
refers to the donor.
The slab has been identified as a so-called mensa martyrum
(table of the martyrs), an uncommon find in Greece, although
large numbers have been found in North Africa. These slabs,
which come in various shapes, have inscriptions including the
words mensa matryrum and indentations like those on the
Byzantine Museum’s slab, into which the faithful placed offer­
ings in memory of the martyrs honored there. The inscriptions
also often mention the names of the martyrs to whom these
“tables” were dedicated.
The Byzantine Museum’s mensa martyrum, dedicated to
five martyrs, was probably located in some shrine venerated in
their memory, a martyrion built by a Christian, a woman called
Soteris, as it says in the dedicatory inscription.
E. Chalkia
Bibliography
Sotiriou 1932, 7–8; Duval 1982; Chalkia 1987–88.

130

The artifact takes the form of a double-gabled lid. The outside is
covered with inscriptions referring to the saints’ relics contained
in the reliquary. They read as follows: +ΜΑΡΤΥΡΙΟΝ ΤΟΥ
+ΑΓΙΟΥ ΙΩΑΝΟΥ ΚΑΙ ΤΗC +CΥΝΟΔΙΑC / +ΜΑΡΤΥΡΙΟΝ
ΤΩΝ +ΑΓΙΩΝ ΑΠΟΣΤΟΛΩΝ ΚΑΙ ΤΗC +CΥΝΟΔΙΑC /
+ΜΑΡΤΥΡΙΟΝ ΤΟΥ ΑΓΙΟΥ ΧΡΙCΤΟΦΟΡΟΥ +ΚΑΙ ΤΗC
CΥΝΟΔΙΑC / +ΜΑΡΤΥΡΙΟΝ ΤΟΥ +CΤΕΦΑΝΟΥ ΚΑΙ ΤΗC
CΥΝΟΔΙΑC ΑΥΤΟΥ (+shrine of +Saint John and his +synodeia
+shrine of the +holy apostles and their +synodeia + shrine of
Saint Christopher +and his synodeia +shrine of +Stephen and his
synodeia). On the upright sides of the lid, on the short ends,
under blind arcading are some finely carved crosses. On the
lower part of the lid is carved a large cross with flared, triangular
terminals, of which the bottom one forms a large triangular
base. This cross is flanked by the abbreviated inscription:
Ι(ΗCO)Y X(PICT)E (Jesus Christ).
The lid comes from a reliquary that took the form of a
sarcophagus. This sort of sarcophagus, used in the consecration
of churches when it was placed under the altar, was very
widespread in the early Christian period. In some examples
there was a second, inner receptacle, often of some precious
material such as silver, which contained the relics. The two-gabled
arrangement on the Benaki Museum lid is relatively unusual and
seems to go hand in hand with the tendency to inscribe detailed
references to the saints whose relics were contained in the
reliquary. The formula of these incriptions, referring to the
saints’ synodeia (company) recalls similar expressions found in
martyrologia and lives of saints, where the term may refer either
to Christians who martyred with the saints or to a company of

followers and believers. Similar inscriptions to the ones we read
on this lid have also been preserved in other examples. In other
cases, dedicatory inscriptions are substituted for the references
to the saints, as on a reliquary in the Metropolitan Museum of
Art (2002.483.3a,b), which was an offering from a certain Bishop
Ioannis.
A. Drandaki
Unpublished
Bibliography (for parallels)
Aydın 2011.

The hollow cylinder within this curious architectural model
suggests that it functioned as a reliquary. The lid that originally
sealed the interior was surely in the form of a roof: a drum
topped by a dome, or perhaps a more pyramidal form, as on
some Roman tombs. At each corner of the low platform stands
a column on a square base. There are no capitals, only simple
moldings at the top and bottom. In the center stands the hollow,
cylindrical “cella,” with an engaged column on three of its sides;
on the fourth side is a closed door, carved in shallow relief.
Between each pair of corner columns springs a low arch,
decorated differently on each side. Round bosses line the arch in
front, above the door, and there is a row of dentils on the
cornice. Above each column are two engaged colonnettes. On
the right side there are dentils on both arch and cornice and
engaged colonnettes above the columns. Simple crosses are
incised in the spandrels. On the left side, a recessed fan motif fills
the arched span. There is a floral rinceau in the attic and
rectilinear moldings on the cornice and above the corner
columns. On the back, the span of the arch is filled with a motif
more like a shell than a fan. There are dentils on the cornice, and
the spandrels are filled with lily-like florals framed by bands of
circular moldings.
Other such colonnaded limestone reliquaries are known,
but few from known contexts; the closest parallel may be a less
elaborate example in the Toledo Museum of Art (2006.91).
Material and style suggest an origin in Syria or Jordan, but their
range is not well defined. The Princeton reliquary may represent,
in abbreviated form, the actual shrine of a particular saint or, as
has been suggested, the Holy Sepulcher itself. Katherine
Marsengill has noted a resemblance to shrines on some Late
Antique funerary stelae. The basic form may descend from
Roman and Parthian colonnaded altars, examples of which,
from Hatra, are in the Baghdad Museum. As such, it is another
example, in this period of transition, of the adaption of a
classical type to a Christian purpose.
J. M. Padgett
Bibliography
Marsengill 2010, 248–49, no. 38.

Poor state of preservation. The handles and neck are missing,
and the relief scenes on both sides have been eroded.
Clay flask with an image of St. Menas flanked by camels on
one side and St. Thekla flanked by wild beasts on the other. It is
a eulogia, an object that believers received as a souvenir of their
visit to some holy place (locus sanctus), in this case the shrine of
St. Menas (Abu Mena) near Alexandria in Egypt (Metzger 1981;
Witt 2000). These flasks were the most widespread of the early
pilgrimage mementos, given that in modern times they have
been found in great numbers from Egypt to the British Islands
and were mass produced in workshops located at the shrine
itself (Grossmann 1998; Bangert 2007).

On one side they had the orant figure of the saint between
two camels and on the other usually the inscription: του αγiου
Μηνa ευλογiα (the eulogia [blessing] of St. Menas). Occa­
sionally they depict other decorative motifs such laurel branches,
foliate bands, crosses, or even a ship, probably as an amulet for
sea voyages (Vikan 1991), while on a significant number of flasks
(16) a popular and especially venerated Late Antique saint,
Thekla, appears flanked by wild beasts, an icono­graphical motif
that refers to her martyrdom (Davis 2001).
The main shrine for the cult of St. Thekla and an important
pilgrimage center in the early Byzantine period was the church
dedicated to her in Seleukeia in Asia Minor. But the sources
allow us to suppose that there was another shrine dedicated to
the saint located close to the shrine at Abu Mena. It has been
thought that the combination of the two saints on a flask, which
pilgrims received at the shrine of St. Menas, could be the result
(Davis 1998; Davis 2001) of some sort of “rivalry” between the
two holy places, i.e., that it may conceal an attempt on the part
of the Abu Mina establishment to lure away the faithful from
the shrine of St. Thekla.
V. Foskolou
Bibliography
Metzger 1981; Vikan 1991; Davis 1998, 303–40; Grossmann 1998,
281–302; Witt 2000; Davis 2001; Bangert 2007, 27–33.

132

finale, she was placed in a pool full of wild seals, but the creatures
were killed by a cloud of fire. While immersed, Thekla announced
that she had baptized herself, a ritual Paul had declined to
perform. She rejoined Paul at Myra, now disguised as a man,
and was commissioned by him to preach the gospel, which she
did in Ikonion and elsewhere. Retiring as a hermit to a cave near
Seleukeia, where a church dedicated to her was later built,
Thekla lived to advanced age and never suffered martyrdom.
Tertullian criticized the Acts of Paul and Thekla as endorsing
baptism and preaching by women, but Thekla was soon revered
as a saint throughout the Christian world. In the orthodox
tradition she is venerated as a protomartyr and “equal of the
apostles.” She was a role model for female ascetics, and for
wives who adopted a life of chastity, one of whom may have
worn this pendant.
J. M. Padgett
Bibliography
Nauerth 1982, 16, pl. vi, fig. 3; C´urcˇic´ – St. Clair 1986, 91–92, no. 89;
Kalavrezou 2003, 300, no. 183.

Intact and in excellent condition.
This oval pendant is of solid gold and has a loop for
suspension. The back is plain. On the front is engraved a woman
standing with her weight on her left leg and her arms lifted in
prayer. She is veiled and draped, and turns her nimbed head up
to the right, where the hand of God appears from the sky to
offer her a wreath of victory. On either side of the woman is a
pair of lions, male and female, whose presence and submission—
the male seems to lick her feet—identify her as St. Thekla. A
native of Ikonion, in Anatolia, Thekla was one of the most
revered saints of the early Christian period, especially in the
east. According to the apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thekla,
written in the 2nd century, she became devoted to St. Paul when
he visited Ikonion. Renouncing her fiancé for a life of chastity,
she was denounced by her own family and sentenced to be
burned, but she was saved by a miraculous storm. She followed
Paul to Pisidian Antioch, where a spurned suitor again had her
condemned, but the lioness to which she was tied only licked her
feet, then fought off the other beasts in the arena. In a bizarre

Intact clay flask from the shrine of St. Menas near Alexandria in
Egypt. A two-part mold was used to make it. The flask has a
round, flattened body with a tall, narrow neck and two separate,
semicircular handles. Both sides are decorated with the image of
St. Menas in a medallion that is formed by relief dots. The saint
is depicted full length and frontally, wearing military dress, his
arms outstretched in the orans position. He is flanked by two
crosses on a level with his head and two kneeling camels,
depicted somewhat abstractly, under his outstretched arms. The
camels are the feature that determines the identity of the orans
figure, because, according to the saint’s life, two camels carried
his relics to the place where his shrine was subsequently
established. The saint’s cult was at its peak in the 5th and 6th
centuries, when there was a flourishing production of clay
eulogiai, which the monastery distributed to pilgrims, not just as
mementos of the shrine but above all as amulets for healing
purposes, containing holy water or oil from the lamp that
burned outside the crypt.
P. Kambanis
Bibliography
Tsolozides Collection 2001, 33–34, no. 47; L’approccio 2002, 37–38,
no. 49; Kambanis 2004, 143.

Preserved intact. Glass discoid amulet. At the top the glass has
been stretched and folded over, creating an integral suspension
hook. A depiction of a stylite saint, probably St. Symeon, was
stamped on the obverse while the glass was still hot and
malleable. In the center, atop a column, a bust-length figure of a
monk wearing a cowl can be made out. The central figure is
flanked by two small, indistinct figures, probably adoring angels.
The back of the disc is flat.
Discoid glass encolpia are widely known, especially in the
area of the eastern Mediterranean. Most of them are made from
amber-colored glass and apparently, only in exceptional cases,
of blue glass. The iconographic repertoire of their stamped
decoration covers both pagan and Jewish subjects, whereas
Christian ones are rare. Only a few examples with St. Symeon
Stylites have survived, and it seems likely that they were eulogiai
(blessings) for the pilgrims who visited the shrine where he had
lived the ascetic life.
A. Antonaras
Bibliography
Tsolozides Collection 2001, 29, no. 39 [A. Antonaras] cf. Barag 2001,
nos. 376–377; Arveiller-Dulong – Nenna 2005, 53–62, nos. 90– 91, 94.

Part of a mosaic floor, detached from its original location for
protection. Some slight damage to the mosaic surface, accounting
for the loss of some letters.
The mosaic pavement belongs to a shrine, which predates
the Octagon, whose identity is made clear in the following
inscription: Πορ[φυ]ριος επiσκο/πος τη[ν] κeντησιν
της βασιλικh/ς Παυλο[υ] [επ]oiησεν εν Χ(ριστ)ω
(Bishop Por[phy]rios made the mosaic in the Basilica of Paul in
Christ’s name). The mention of Bishop Porphyrios, who signed
the acts of the Council of Serdica (342/343), indicates that the
floor can be dated to the early 4th century. That and the reference
to the type of building (a rectangular-plan, three-aisled structure
with an inscribed apse at the east end, to which the mosaic

belonged) place it in the period when Christians did not yet have the
courage or the power to publicly demonstrate their faith by means
of monumental architecture, such as the great Octagon, which
succeeded the earlier church. The fragment of mosaic would have
formed part of the area bordering the short, east end. It takes the
form of a tabula ansata and is framed by a line of red tesserae. The
ground is white. The inscription is arranged in three lines, which are
emphasized with a line of red tesserae. Gold tesserae were used for the
words Πορφu’ριος (Porphyrios), επi’σκοπος (bishop), Παu’λου (Paul),
and the abbreviation ΧΡΩ (Christ); red tesserae were used for the
word εν (in) and blue for the rest.
S. Dadaki
Bibliography
Pelekanides 1975, 101; Pelekanides 1976–77, 71–74; Pelekanides 1978,
67–72; Pelekanides 1980, 101–25; Koukouli – Bakirtzis 1995, 49–52;
Gounaris 2004; Mentzos 2005, 101–49.

This fragment from an inscribed marble plaque has been
preserved in good condition, with some damage to the lateral
sides and slight damage to the lettering. The inscribed slab was
found re-used as flooring material in the marble pavement of the
small, northern aisle of the church and preserves part of the
original text. The extant text is set out in eleven straight lines,
very finely carved, and is only part of the original.
The extant text has been read as follows: [Ιου]στινιανo’ς,
Αλαμανικo’ς, Γοτ[θικo’ς ... ...]νικητ(h’ς), τροπαιοu’χ(ος),
αεισe’βασ[τος ... ...]ς Δημητρi’ου του κατa’[... ...]βασμi’ω οi’κω κατa’
τη[... 5 ...]προσευξo’μενοι τη θ [... ...]πρa’κτων των δ[... ...]J πρa’γμα
ελαττω [... ...]εi’ναι αυταςτ[... ...]ακωχης κα[ 10 ...]ιναιτου;
[Jus]tinian, Alamanicus, Gothicus ... ... victor, triumphant

136

conqueror, always to be revered... ..., Demetrios of [... .. .]
(venerable) house on the [... 5 ...] who had prayed (to) [10...]....
The first extant line is from the first line of the inscription.
The first word gives the name Justinian, accompanied by the
emperor’s nomina sacra, the epithets he had acquired from his
military successes, such as Alamanicus and Gothicus, details
that help identify the emperor as Justinian I. Other glorifying
imperial titles follow, such as “victor,” “triumphant conqueror”
(triumphator), and “always to be revered,” which indicate that
the text was composed after the emperor’s successive military
triumphs in the west. From the fragments of the text that follow
we can assume the emperor had made some thank offering to
the “venerable house of St. Demetrios,” which may refer to a
tax-collecting concession and not a visit by Justinian himself to
Thessaloniki and the church, as there is no historical evidence
for the latter.
Although it is difficult to tell how much has been lost of the
original inscription-bearing support, earlier attempts to complete
the first line do not, in my opinion, quite add up. On the other
hand, the style of the inscription’s lettering is not consistent with
a 6th-century date. It may be that the inscription was based on
a text of the mid-6th century, which was transferred to the
marble support at a later date, probably after the rebuilding of
the basilica in the 7th century, when the Church wanted to
immortalize its connection with this particular emperor and his
efforts on behalf of the shrine of St. Demetrios.
M. Païsidou
Bibliography
Oikonomos 1918; Sotiriou – Sotiriou 1952, 252; Spieser 1973, 153–54;
Tsigaridas – Tsigarida 1979, 92–93.

Ionic capital with integral abacus. Inscribed: ΤΙΓΡΙC / ΓΙΩΝ //
ΦΙCΩΝ (Tigris
/
Gion
//
Phison). The piece is in satisfactory
condition. Some abrasions can be seen on one volute, including
a small part of the pulvinus, as well as at one end of the narrow
side with the cross.
The main face of the capital is decorated on the echinus
with three eggs. The secondary face has an incised linear cross
between tripartite decorative motifs (fleurons) on the echinus.
In the middle of the lower part, traces of the lead clamp remain
in the aperture. The main face of the abacus has a carved
depiction of a cross with flared terminals, flanked by the four
gushing rivers of Paradise, three of which are denoted by name;
between them are two water birds, which look like swans. The
bird on the left, its long neck bent and its head down, is drinking
water, while the one on the right has its head turned back and
is looking up, allowing the water to flow into its long neck. The
secondary face is decorated with a central cross with flared
terminals.

The image depicted on the capital from Thaumakos is a
symbolic scene of heavenly bliss and purification, with the two
waterfowl quenching their thirst in the flowing waters of the
rivers. It is an eschatological subject, referring to the salvation of
mankind, the blessings of eternal life, and the immortality of the
soul. Men’s souls, depicted in the form of the two waterfowl,
have recourse to the waters of the four rivers of Paradise that
irrigate Creation, to requite their thirst and be purged. The
element of water with life-giving power, represented by the four
rivers of Paradise from the Old Testament (Genesis 2: 10–14):
Gihon or Gehon, Pison or Phison, Tygris [Hiddekel], and
Euphrates, is the paradisiac symbol par excellence in the early
Christian period. Depictions of the rivers are found on wall
mosaics in early Christian monuments (e.g., Hosios David,
Latomou Monastery, Thessaloniki, and basilicas in Rome),
where they accompany depictions of apocalyptic visions and
epiphanies. In sculpture this subject is rarely depicted, which
makes this capital from Thaumakos important from the point of
view of symbolic iconography.
G. Kakavas
Unpublished
Bibliography (for provenance)
Lazaridis 1973, 323–25, pl. 280γ, dr. 1; Dina 1981, 269–70; Dina 1991,
231–32; Sythiakaki-Kritsimalli 2002, 60.

Part of a curved arch from an ambo with pieces missing on the
left, at the lower right, and in the upper right corner. Assembled
in three sections.
The extrados and soffit are decorated. At the summit of the
extrados is depicted a Latin cross with flared terminals standing
on a bead-and-reel and an egg-and-dart ornament. To the right
and left of the cross is an acanthus with a twisted spear. The
soffit of the arch is decorated with an ovolo molding between a
double row of bead and reel and then spiral ornament.
Α. Dina
Bibliography
Giannopoulos 1912, 136–42, pl. Α’; Sotiriou 1929b, 87–96, fig. 121;
Orlandos 1952, ΙΙ. 549–54.

Corner section of a curved panel from an ambo with losses in
the upper and right-hand parts, assembled in three pieces.
Decorated on the front and back. The front is framed by
two narrow, undecorated bands, which enclose repeated acan­
thus leaves set at an angle, followed by bead-and-reel decoration
and a row of half-acanthus, in which the corner leaf is unfurling.
From the main part of the decoration traces of pierced vegetal
decoration survive. On the reverse there is a triple-banded frame,
which follows the curve of the slab.
In both cat. nos. 99 and 100, the use of the drill (a Theo­
dosian technique) indicates the working of the marble with tools
and methods proper to sculpture. In this way, the craftsman
attempted to exploit the contrast between the whiteness of the
marble and the dark holes opened up by the drill. Thus, the
strong light reinforces the sudden alternations between black
and white and gives the impression of another dimension.
Α. Dina
Bibliography
Giannopoulos 1912, 136–42, pl. Α’; Sotiriou 1929b, 87–96, fig. 119;
Orlandos 1952, ΙΙ. 549–54.

The decorative motifs of the cross inscribed in the disc and
the repeated rhombuses inscribed in rectangles or squares are
common in the early Christian period in mainland Greece (e.g.,
Amphipolis), in Constantinople and in Asia Minor (e.g., Nicaea).
In particular, the motif of repeated rhombuses is thought to
reflect models from woodcarving.
E. Manolessou

Photo ÂŠ Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Tourism
Bibliography

In good condition. Some small abrasions. Cut down on three sides.
On the front of the panel, three concentric rhombuses are
inscribed in a square frame, around which at intervals are wound
ribbons, which are preserved only on one side. The rhombuses
are separated from one another by deep, semicircular section
grooves. The sides of the rhombuses are made up of slightly
curved bands which project from between flat moldings. The
small central rhombus is filled by a rosette. Between the corners
of the square and the sides of the largest rhombus are space
fillers in the form of triangles filled with small, raised discs. The
sides of the triangles are made up of curved bands and moldings.
On the other side, a Latin cross with flared arms decorates
a disc that projects slightly from the ground and is inscribed in a
banded, square frame. A double band, preserved on only one
side, surrounded the square. The face with the cross is in low
relief, whereas the face with the rhombuses has decoration in
high relief, which, combined with the grooves, creates strong
shadows.

Generally good condition. The tabula ansata, or plaque, is divided
length­wise by two bands of equal height inscribed ΥΠΕΡΜΝΗΜ/
ΗΣ ΘΕΚΛΑΣ (In memory of Thekla). The name Thekla is
preceded by an ivy leaf placed toward the bottom of the plaque.
In the pierced-work ends of the tabula are Latin crosses with
flared terminals. In the middle of the upper and lower parts,
suspension rings are attached to the main body of the plaque. A
double hook is joined to the upper one. A chain made of closed
S-shaped links and ending in a larger hook hangs from the lower
one. A Latin cross (h. 0.11 m.) interrupts the chain a third of the
way down; the cross-arms end in back-to-back hooks.
The disk of a polykandelon (multiple hanging lamp) prob­
ably once hung from the last hook on the chain. Judging by the
find spot (the eastern end of the south stoa of the atrium, which
formed an enclosed chamber), it seems likely that the plaque had
been put into storage, whereas the disk of the polykandelon was
probably re-used in the church. The closest analogy is found in
a pierced disk with a cruciform monogram surrounded by fleurde-lis (trefoil finials) (found in Syria and dated to 550–650;
Cormack – Vassilaki 2008, 421–22, no. 171) and two other pierced
disks with cruciform monograms in Paderborn (dated to ca. 800;
Stiegemann 2001, 218–19, no. Ι.13).

In excellent condition. An incrustation of some inorganic reddish
substance covers the greater part of the outer surface of the lid.
The reliquary consists of a simple box-shaped body and a
sliding, gabled lid with acroteria at the corners. The decoration
is confined to a flat cross in relief with flared terminals on the lid.
The workmanship is crude (tool marks can be seen on the
surfaces). Inside is a lead casket (h. 0.08 m., l. 0.05 m., d. 0.05
m.), with a cruciform decorative motif incised on the top of its
lid. The relationship of the lead casket to the marble reliquary is
problematic. The lavish use of metal points to the so-called Dark
Ages. It is probable that they both date to the same period.
The sarcophagus-style reliquary from Anchialos belongs to
a type that is indigenous to the Balkans and Asia Minor and
dates to the 5th and 6th centuries. There are close similarities
with a group of examples centered on Constantinople (cf. Eyice
1969, 127–45). Reliquaries of this type usually contained smaller
reliquaries and were placed in spaces hollowed out under the
altars of churches during their consecration. The depositing of
relics in churches was made obligatory only in 787 at the Seventh
Ecumenical Council (Rhalles – Potles 1892, 58), which regularized
a confused tradition, at the same time as it reinforced the cult of
relics in the midst of the Iconoclast Controversy.
Y. Theocharis

The reliquary has been preserved intact and in good condition,
apart from the oxidation on the surface and a broken hinge on the
back. It is oval in shape and consists of a receptacle and lid, which
opens and closes and is fixed at the front with a latch. Pieces of
bones, which were the relics of saints but are now reduced to dust,
were stored inside. The reliquary is very simply decorated with a
cross with flared ends, carved across the full width of the lid. The
cross is surrounded by interlace rendered in repoussé technique.
The same interlace runs around the edge of the receptacle.
The simple shape and decoration of the reliquary from the
Asklepieion can be compared with examples datable to the 5th and
6th centuries, such as a reliquary from Esbus in Jordan (Comte
2008, 97, no. 47, fig. 113), the reliquaries from Ras el Bassit in Syria
(Comte 2008, nos. 184, 185, fig. 292), and one in the Sofia Museum
(Buschhausen 1971, 283, C12). The latch of its fastening is similar
to that on a reliquary from Chersonesos (Buschhausen 1971,
252–54, B 59–60,), dated to the mid-6th century. The reliquary
from the Asklepieion should be dated to the same period, and
consequently the three-aisled basilica, which replaced the old
sanctuary, must be of this date. It is worth noting that the
rectangular trench of the reliquary used for the consecration was
not found in the basilica of the early Christian period in the
Asklepieion but under the Holy Doors leading to the altar of a
later, single-aisled church, probably dated to the 11th century built
on the ruins of the basilica. It is clear that the cult of earlier saints,
who succeeded the ancient god Asklepios, was transferred in order
to sanctify the later middle Byzantine church as well.

Whole (from two reunited pieces).
Square, marble altar with a shallow, concave disc in the
center, the circumference of which is marked with incisions. At
the corners of the altar are carved four Greek (i.e., equal-armed)
crosses, outlined with a double line. The main face of the altar is
well polished, whereas the back and the lateral sides by contrast
have only been roughly worked.
This kind of altar is only found in Attica and is probably the
creation of local workshops. The altar seems likely to have
belonged to one of the early Christian basilicas in Eleusis, which
were built either within the bounds of the shrine of Demeter or
nearby, once Christianity had succeeded the ancient religion.
The altar’s square shape supports the hypothesis that it was
used as the main altar in the apse of the sanctuary, on which the
bread and the wine were changed into the body and blood of
Christ and which symbolized successively Christ’s tomb and the
throne of God. However, for lack of archaeological data, it is
not possible to exclude its use for secondary liturgical purposes,
for example, in the prothesis (the sacristy on the north side of
the bema, where the Eucharist was prepared) or for receiving
offerings brought by the faithful to the church.
K. Papangeli
Bibliography
Chalkia 1991, 56, 219, fig. 45.

This paten is dented in many places and has a significant tear
running along the crease between the bottom and side where the arch
is represented. The rim has several splits where letters were excavated.
The paten and the chalice were the sacred utensils for
celebrating the Eucharist (communion) in the Byzantine rite.
Used for the bread and wine that had been sanctified and
transformed into the body and blood of Christ—as had happened
at the Last Supper, recorded in the Gospel of Mark 14: 22–25—
these vasa sacra played an essential role in this mystery, or
sacrament, of Christianity.
Recorded in the Bible but represented as though an idealized
6th-century ritual, this communion scene depicts Christ with the
cross-halo as priest and deacon, simultaneously distributing
bread to the apostles to the right and wine to those on the left.
The setting of columns supporting an architrave, a shell motif—

142

implying a niche or an apse—and lamps with flames suggests the
interior of a church. Christ stands behind the draped altar with
a chalice, paten, and wine skins on it. In front are a ewer from
which water was poured to wash hands and a bowl with a
handle that caught the used water.
Like many ecclesiastical silver objects found in northern
Syria from the 6th to 7th century, the donors included a long
inscription inset with niello: + UPER ANAPAUCEωC CERGIAC
I ωANNOU K(ai) QEODOCIOU K(ai) CωTHRIAC MEGALOU
K(ai) NONNOU K(ai) TωN AUTωN TEKNωN (For the repose
[of the soul] of Sergia, [daughter] of John, and of Theodosios,
and [for] the salvation of Megas and of Nonnos and of their
children). The placement of their names insured that whenever
the paten was used, those to be remembered would be associated
with the Eucharist and their prayerful hopes would be invoked.
On the back of the paten, a series of five stamps are
impressed, a system that began in the late 5th century and lasted
until the middle of the 7th. The official stamps, which bear the
name of the emperor and state officials connected with the fisc,
are thought to confirm either the purity of the silver or its
controlled distribution from the imperial treasury. Important for
the historian and art historian, the stamps help to date the silver
objects; this paten was fabricated in the reign of Justin II (565–78),
and perhaps precisely in 577.

The Riha paten is one of only two early Byzantine patens on
which the Communion of the Apostles is represented, the
original ritual on which subsequent liturgical repetitions are
based. (The other is the Stuma Paten in the Archaeological
Museum, Istanbul.) Reputedly found at Riha in northern Syria
early in the 20th century, it is related to a group of approximately
fifty ecclesiastical silver objects discovered at that time in the
same region. It has been suggested (see Mango 1986) that the
Hama, Antioch, Stuma, and Riha treasures were, in fact, one
cache from Kaper Koraon that was divided into smaller groups
in order to increase their appeal as discrete treasures. The Riha
treasure, comprising this paten, a chalice, and a liturgical fan
(rhipidion), is in Dumbarton Oaks.
S. Zwirn

The chalice is made in two parts, the hemispherical cup and the
flaring foot, which are soldered together. Both parts are of
hammered silver sheets that were subsequently placed on the
lathe to smooth the outside. The cup is plain with a flat, slightly
everted rim, below which is engraved on one side a cruciform
monogram, which possibly reads ΜΑΡΙΑC (of Maria). The
sole decoration on the vessel is an elegant foliate knob and
incised lines on the foot, executed while it was being turned on
the lathe.
The paten is also made of hammered silver sheet
subsequently worked on the lathe. The bottom is flat and the
slightly flaring walls terminate in a wide, flat rim engraved with
the same monogram as on the chalice and the votive inscription
ΥΠΕΡ ΕΥΧΗC ON OIΔΕΝ Ο Θ(ΕΟ)C TA ONOMATA +
(Prayer for those whose names God knows +).
Both the technical traits and the repetition of the
monogram on the vessels confirm that they were made as a set
and commissioned by the same donor. Although they are not
stamped with the usual control stamps of the period, which
would give a secure date for their production, the close
similarities they display with contemporary “hallmarked”
silver objects helps in this direction. The type of lettering in the
inscription on the paten is characteristic of many silver objects
of the 6th century. The austere shape of the chalice is
encountered in several analogous vessels in the Kaper Koraon
treasure from Syria, whereas the foliate knob on the foot is
repeated on three chalices from the Beth Misona treasure, also
Syrian, of the late 6th century. Equally typical is the shape of
the paten, although most extant examples are of larger
dimensions and as a rule have some ornament at the bottom. A
paten identical to the one in the Benaki Museum is in the
6th-century Gallunianu treasure discovered in Italy, differing
only in the Latin inscription on the latter.
A. Drandaki
Bibliography
Delivorrias – Fotopoulos 1997, 182–83, nos. 310–312; Georgoula
2007, nos. 75, 76 [A. Drandaki]. For parallels, see Mango 1986,
74–77, no. 3, 228–30, nos. 57–59, 253, no. 81; Stiegemann 2001,
140–41, no. I.43 [V. H. Elbern]. For the inscriptions, see Ševcˇenko
1992, 39–56.

143

of the figures are rendered in modified contrapposto, with the
weight of each of the figures resting on one leg with the other
leg placed at a diagonal. The Virgin’s pose is less dynamic but
nonetheless has been given a gentle sway. Their tunics have
finely articulated folds. A band decorated with a scalloped
design circles the base of the censer. The censer was given to a
church by a donor, a certain Leontios, who apparently had it
inscribed after its manufacture; the somewhat crude letters of
the inscription fit awkwardly in the spaces above the arches.
The inscription is a prayer to God via the intercessory powers
of St. Georgios and reads, “O God of Saint George, help thy
servant, Leontios” [Ο Θ(εο)C ΤΟV ΑΓΙΟV ΓΕΟΡΓΙΟV ΒΟΗΘΙ
ΤΟV ΔΟUΛΟV CΟV ΛΕΟΝΤΙOV]. There are six control
stamps impressed into the bottom of the censer: two round
stamps with the bust of the emperor Maurice (582–602)
inscribed Lamprotatos (the most splendid); one long stamp
with a monogram of the emperor Maurice and a nimbed bust
above, inscribed Patrikiou; and three cross shaped stamps
with the monogram of Peter inscribed Patrikis (perhaps Peter
Barsymes).
K. Marsengill
Bibliography
Frazer 1986, 16; Mango 1986, 256–57, no. 85; Wixom 1999, 37,
cat. no. 45.

There is some distortion to the silver and soldered repairs are
visible, indicating that the censer was used over a long period.
One link of the chain is lost and another is broken.
The hexagonal silver censer is decorated on each side with
a figure placed under a segmented arch held on spiral columns
with acanthus-leaf capitals. The figure of Christ, depicted beard­
less and with short hair, stands holding a book. The apostles
Peter and Paul are represented in the adjoining panels to either
side and turn slightly toward the central figure of Christ. Peter
holds a cross across at his left shoulder and Paul holds a book.
On the opposite side from Christ is a depiction of the Virgin Mary
standing with her hands raised in prayer. The panels flanking
her image present two archangels holding globes and staves. All

In relatively good condition with incrustations in places. The
polykandelon (multiple hanging lamp) consists of a wide ring
with six holes for inserting glass oil lamps and three suspension
chains hanging from a calyx-shaped element. The inner and
outer rims of the ring have incised decoration made up of paired
concentric circles. Three loops are soldered to its upper surface,
which were used to secure the suspension chains. The chains
hang from an element shaped like a floral calyx with six petals,
each ending in a small, solid knop. The base of the calyx is knopshaped and terminates in a large suspension hook. Toward the
middle of each chain is inserted a medallion with an inscribed,
openwork cross.
The calyx-shaped element is found on many types of multiwicked lamps and polykandela, and, according to one view, it is
a reference to the floral decoration of the seven-branched
candlestick described in the Old Testament (Exodus 37:17). The
Canellopoulos Museum polykandelon has many similarities, as
regards the chains, the medallions, and the calyx-form element,
with a polykandelon in the Dumbarton Oaks collection and
another in the British Museum, both also dated to the 6th
century.
A. Zarkadas

The lamp is preserved intact. It is encrusted with deposits in
places, mainly on the lower part and inside the hollow nozzles.
It stands on a pierced, hexagonal base, at the edges of which
rhombuses and palmettes alternate. The body is shaped like a
flattened sphere, from which emerge the three nozzles. The
filling hole in the center of the body is covered by a semicircular
lid, which is topped by a cross. Busts of animals, probably wild
goats, project between the nozzles. On the spine, between the
nozzles and the body of the lamp, there is a soldered suspension
ring for hanging the lamp.
The lamp belongs to a particularly widespread category of
early Christian lamps with elongated nozzles that turn up at the
ends. The form of these lamps recalls the typology of lamps
from the Hellenistic period and is found from as early as
Roman times, as examples from Pompeii and the shipwrecks of
Spargi and Mahdia attest. The diversity found in this type of
lamp suggests that they were produced in many different
centers in the eastern Mediterranean.
A. Zarkadas
Bibliography
Brouskari 2002b, 134; Skampavias – Chatzidaki 2007, 32, no. 16
[E. Brouskari]; Xanthopoulou 2010, 14, 161, no. LA 3.278.

Copper alloy cross with flared terminals on the cross-arms,
which end in pairs of undecorated discs. This type of cross is
well known from the early Christian period (Byzance 1992, 118,
no. 65; Stiegemann 2001, 147–50, no. I.50), and continued to be
produced later on in the form of the copper alloy crosses of the
9th and 10th centuries (Boura 1979, 12) and the inscribed and
decorated bronze or silver crosses of the 10th to 12th century
(Glory 1997, 58–65, nos. 22–26). Near the ends of the four crossarms are incised on the obverse: ΙC XC N K, (ΙΗΣΟΥΣ ΧΡΙΣΤΟΣ
ΝΙΚΑ = Jesus Christ conquers) and on the reverse: ΦΧΦΠ (ΦΩΣ
ΧΡΙΣΤΟΥ ΦΑΙΝΕΙ ΠΑΣΙ = [the] Light of Christ shines on all).
The pointed tang at the bottom, an extension of the lower crossarm, was used to fit the cross into a base or fix it to a pole while
it was being processed in public or monastic services.
The cross is the symbol par excellence of Christianity,
which extols Christ’s triumph over death and has wonder-­
working and healing properties. For this reason such crosses
were used not only in stational processions on feast days of the
Orthodox Church, but also for litanies invoking divine providence in cases of natural disasters or danger (e.g., earthquakes,
floods, or hos­tile sieges). They also accompanied emperors and
generals on their campaigns (Galavaris 1991, col. 219s; Cotsonis
1994, 8–32). The rest of the time, these crosses were supported
on a suitable base and placed in the sanctuary, behind the altar,
or in various parts of the con­gregational space (Cotsonis 1994,
32–37; Galavaris 1994, 95–99).
A. Tsakalos

The portrait comes from a relief. The nose, the tip of the chin,
and part of the neck are missing. There is damage to the outlines
of the ears and the lips.
The boy depicted is about ten years old and is turning to the
left. He has an oval-shaped face, almond-shaped eyes, and
arched brows in relief. The mouth is small with well-marked
lips, and the upper lip projects slightly. The hair falls in curls
over the forehead. Both the facial features and the hairstyle are
commonplace in portraits of the first two Roman imperial
families, when dynastic propaganda aimed first and foremost at
acquainting people with the family features. The general air of
melancholy on the face characterizes Roman child portraits, and
the idealized features, with connotations of the classical ideal,
are the hallmark of the Augustan period. The boy depicted has
been identified by most scholars as Augustus’s grandson Gaius

Caesar (20 bc–ad 4) or his brother Lucius Caesar (17 bc–ad 2),
portraits of whom were erected in Greece, or even as Germanicus
(15 or 16 bc–ad 19).
A special feature is the cross carved on the forehead. This
Christian symbol must have been made when the relief was still
intact, as the shallow, careful carving attests. Such crosses carved
on the forehead, the chest, or the arms of Greco-Roman
sculptures are found scattered around the western and eastern
fringes of the empire, Christianizing gods and society figures
alike. It is impossible to say when these sculptures were thus
marked, with the intention of purifying them or driving out their
demons until they were finally destroyed. The small number of
works that have been Christianized by the addition of the
Christian symbol, such as those that were incorporated into
churches, as well as information from documentary sources,
attest to the survival of some sculptures at least into the first few
centuries of Christianity. The idealized child figure, remote and
at the same time eloquent, motivated some follower of the new
religion to award it temporary salvation by giving it new life.
I. Mennenga
Bibliography
Theophaneides 1927/28, 9, fig. 15; Hafner 1954, 80, no Α 35; Stavrides
1985, 333, pl. 134; Delivorrias 1991, 112.

The head belongs to a female statue. Only one of the three pieces
that would be assembled to form the head has been preserved, as
is evident from the mortises drilled on the back, which is roughly
worked. Over the left ear are visible locks of the hair, which
would have been tied with a ribbon in a bun at the back of the
head. On the face, a cross with unequal arms has been carved in
low relief, covering the whole surface and entirely effacing the
features. In the quarterings of the cross the inscrip­tion IC XC
ΝΗΚΑ (Jesus Christ conquers) has been carved.
This is a representative example of the transitional period
from paganism to Christianity on Rhodes. The head, which,
judging by the remnants of the features, belonged to a Roman
female statue of the 2nd or 1st century bc, was “exorcized”
much later, most probably in the 5th or 6th century ad. This was
done by some fanatical adherent of the new religion, who was
not satisfied with simply carving a small cross on the forehead or
cheeks, as happened in a number of similar examples. In order
to entirely deface the features the whole surface was levelled,
leaving the cross to stand out, and in the spaces between them
the sanctifying inscription was incised.
E. Papavassiliou
Bibliography
Delivorrias 1991; Rhodes 2004, 20, fig. 5; Papavassiliou-Rapti 2007;
Deligiannakis 2008, 156–57, fig. 6.

The head and the neck were broken off from a slightly larger than
life-size statue. The nose is broken. The eyes and eyelids are
chipped, and the chin and the lips have also suffered some slight
chipping. These injuries were undoubtedly caused by early, fanatical Christians, who used to damage ancient statuary, wielding
their hammers in particular against the eyes and mouths of the
figures (in order to “shut” their mouths and render them “blind”).
The figure is turning slightly to the right. Two grooves, one
below the chin and the other in the middle of the neck, indicate
the “rings of Aphrodite.” The face is ellipsoid with a small but
fleshy, half-open mouth. What draws the eye is the elaborate
hairstyle, which is bound all around the head with a fillet. Over
the forehead the hair is parted and combed into thick, wavy
locks on either side, partly covering the ears, while at the back
and on the nape of the neck it is bound in a knot.
Although this has been claimed as an original work of the
4th century bc, it seems more likely that it is a Roman copy from

148

the Flavian period (1st century). It belongs to the AspremontLeyden /Arles type of Aphrodite, which has survived in many
copies, and is thought to copy one of Praxiteles’ early works
from about 370 to 360 bc.
Apart from the admittedly exquisite quality of the work
itself, there is another feature that gives it added interest: the
cross carved on the forehead. This practice should be related
chronologically to the hammer blows dealt to the eyes by
Christian fanatics. This action is distinct from the impulsive,
violent attacks on the idols of the old religion but is a matter of
“Christianization” and purification of the female figure, which
is “renewed” either simply as a Christian figure or as a female
saint, or even as the Virgin Mary herself, as a number of scholars
have maintained, although we are not in a position to assert
with any certainty which of these was the case. Nevertheless, the
fact is that this Christianization of ancient figures seems to have
gone on for many years and is a phenomenon observed not only
on Greek soil but also in the Latin west.
N. Kaltsas
Bibliography
Kastriotis 1908, 88–90, pl. 5; Croissant 1971 65, figs. 15–17; Lauter
1988, 21–29, pls. 14–19; Delivorrias 1991, 113–14, pl. 54δ; Despinis
1994, 189, 196; Kaltsas 2002, 244, no. 510; Kaltsas – Despinis 2007,
122, no. 25 [A. Corso]; Pasquier-Martinez 2007, 156–57, no. 27
[A. Pasquier].

Chipped around the edges. Abrasions at various points on the
surface.
On the main face is depicted a Gorgon mask surrounded by
double banded interlace with swastikas arranged in the shape of
a cross (only the left-hand and lower ones survive). In the spaces
between them a dog wearing a collar is running to the right,
probably chasing some wild animal. On the other side is a large
Latin cross with flared arms and part of a palmette placed
diagonally at the right-hand edge. The outline and the execution
are characterized by precision.
This sculpture belongs to a type of closure slabs that are
modeled on pierced slabs. Pierced and pseudo-pierced closure
slabs with vegetal symbols in geometric borders constitute a

large group of objects with pretensions to high quality, dated to
the early and middle Byzantine periods and found in Con­
stantinople, Greece, Italy, Syria-Palestine, and Egypt.
The iconography of the main face is exceptional. The grim
Gorgon is an exact reproduction of a Hellenistic type with wings
on the head, which was widespread in the Roman period. The
choice of this image springs from the belief that it represents the
evil connected with the pagan world. The power of the demonic
Gorgon is neutralized by the meander-pattern interlace, the
hunting dog, and the cross, which all have their roots in demonological beliefs. An analysis of their iconography­—in which
the latent exorcizing significance of water plays an important
part—combined with the topography of Lechaion and the
martyrdom of St. Leonides and the Seven Virgin Deaconesses,
who were thrown into the open sea, leads us to posit that the
slab could very likely come from their sacred fountain ­(hagiasma).
Y. Theocharis
Bibliography
Philadelpheus 1918, 131, fig. 7; Avraméa 1997, 151; Sklavou-Mavroeidi
1999, 71, no. 95; Byzanz 2010, 191–92, no. 106; Theocharis 2012.

149

guide and savior of souls, echoing the parable of the lost sheep
(Luke 15:4–7). The wall painting in the catacomb of St. Sebastian
in Rome, in which Hermes, as psychopomp, is depicted next to the
Good Shepherd, clearly shows the Christian motif’s dependence
on the pagan type. An interesting extension of the symbolism of
the Good Shepherd comes from a reference in Eusebios, according
to which Constantine the Great was the “good shepherd” of his
people (Vita Constantini IV, 65). Consequently, statues of the
Good Shepherd may have formed part of imperial propaganda,
especially if they were set up in public spaces, such as fountains.
A. Pianalto
Bibliography
Picard 1947, 266–81; Wixom 1967, 67–88; Provoost 1982, 159–72;
Stefanidou-Tiveriou 1993, 58–73; Sklavou-Mavroeidi 1999, 24;
Yamada 1999, 281–305; Aurea Roma 2000, 631–32 [M. Nota Santi];
Cormack – Vassilaki 2008, 378 [A. Tzitzibassi].

The Good Shepherd is one of the most popular iconographical
motifs of early Christian art. In the Byzantine Museum’s statu­
ette, the young shepherd is depicted frontally, dressed in a short,
belted tunic. With his right hand he holds the outstretched legs
of the animal he is carrying on his shoulders. The statuette is in
a fragmentary condition: the legs survive to knee level, the left
arm and part of the right are missing, and the face is chipped.
Behind the figure is a support, which has been flattened at the
back so as to fit against a wall.
As regards the use of the sculpture, there are two prevailing
opinions: it was either a table support or a decorative archi­
tectural member. In support of the former, a parallel can be cited
in the table leg found in a cemetery in Thessaloniki (cat. no.
118), the presence of which was probably connected with the
celebration of funerary feasts. As to the second suggestion, a
corresponding example may exist in the statuette found in a
fountain in Byblos in modern-day Lebanon.
The Good Shepherd type found in early Christian sculpture
seems to stem directly from the Hermes Kriophoros iconography.
The Christians endowed this type with the symbolism of Christ as

Table support with a representation of a young man carrying a
ram in the iconographical type of the “Good Shepherd.” The base
is almost a cube, framed above and below by frieze and molding,
and with feet at all four corners. The abacus has not survived.
The young shepherd is depicted frontally. He wears a short,
belted tunic, which comes down to just above the knees, and
mid-calf-length boots. His right hand holds the ram draped over
his shoulders, and his outstretched left hand would have held a
crook, which has not survived. His dog sits to the left at his feet.
The figure of the young shepherd stands in front of a narrow
pillar, which tapers toward the top. The support has a main face
and two sides, but the back was intended to remain unseen, and
thus the table must have been built to stand against a wall. It
was used in a 4th-century large funerary structure with nine
vaulted chambers.
Many table supports employ the same motif, to which, if
the dating corresponds, Christian religious symbolism is often
attributed (i.e., a youthful Christ as shepherd boy). The young
ram carrier, as a bucolic motif, symbolized the good life for both
pagans and Christians, but the Christians gave it new allegorical
content to symbolize the mission of Christ as Savior of Christian
believers, who are depicted as sheep. This is the first time the
subject has been observed in use in a cemetery, and in particular
in a funerary structure that contained Christian and pagan
tombs. The subject is also found in painted form, with purely
Christian content, in the catacombs in Rome. Its use was also
widespread on carved stone sarcophagi, and of course, it was
also depicted on other objects, whether with religious symbolism
or not. The motif continued to be used with its symbolic content
into the post-Byzantine period.
Two other table supports with the same subject have been
found in Thessaloniki: one found on a plot of land northeast of
the church of Hagia Sophia (Museum of Byzantine Culture,
AΓ 295) and another in the Archaeological Museum (6144). The
iconography of the Good Shepherd has also been depicted in the
wall paintings of early Christian tombs of the city: for example,
in Tomb 4, excavated on the site at 18 Apolloniados Street,
Tomb 18, from the site at the Theological School of the
Aristotelian University; in the tomb at 12 Bizaniou Street; and in
another tomb found at 7 Demosthenous Street.
D. Makropoulou
Bibliography
Makropoulou 2007, 66.

In fine condition. Minor chipping at the edges. The back is
roughly picked, the sides smoothly sawn.
A young shepherd with a sheep slung over his shoulders
stands before an architectural structure consisting of spirally
fluted Corinthian columns and a low pediment. From other
examples we know that he is Christ, embodying the parable of
the Good Shepherd (John 10:11). The Savior of the Flock is
represented with a pudgy face and thick, curly hair punctuated
with drill holes. He stands with his weight on his right leg and
looks off to his left. He is dressed in a belted, long-sleeved tunic
with a scarf-like collar, laced boots, and puttees. Flanking him
are two sheep and two trees, in one of which roosts a bird, a
symbol of the soul. The broad carving, the squatness of the
figure, and the exaggerated size of certain elements point to a
date at the end of the 3rd century.
The image of the faithful herder carrying a lost animal on
his shoulders has roots in archaic Greek art. Its widespread
adoption in Late Antiquity as an image of Christ as the Good
Shepherd was based on Hellenistic and Roman prototypes in the
bucolic tradition. Images of the Good Shepherd occur in variety
of media: free-standing sculptures (like the famous example in
the Museo Pio Cristino in the Vatican); mosaics (such as those in

151

the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia in Ravenna); and frescoes (like
those in the Catacombs of Priscilla and Callistus). This slab was
cut from the center of a sarcophagus, probably of the strigilated
type, in which a central panel is flanked by zones of wavy, fluted
ornament. Another possibility is that it was one of several
arcaded niches containing figural groups, as on a famous
sarcophagus in Split, in Croatia. In either case, the structure may
represent the Temple gateway, a portal through which even errant
souls, retrieved by faith, may enter the Kingdom of Heaven.
J. M. Padgett
Bibliography
Age of Spirituality 1979, 519, no. 463; Padgett 2001, 168–69, no. 48.

Intact, but with some slight abrasion at the upper left corner.
This is an inscribed marble grave stele, with gudgeon, in
one piece. A border projects the length of all four sides, slanting
toward the inner edges and with obtuse angled corners. Inside
this frame, on the right, stands Aurelia Zosime in a frontal,
almost hieratic pose. This is an indication that the deceased is
being depicted in heroic fashion in accordance with ancient
models. The figure has a short hairstyle with four separate
braids, which leave the ears uncovered. She stands with her
weight on the right leg, while the left is turned to the side and
slightly bent. She wears a full-length tunic with stylized folds
that follow the movement of the legs and a himation with
oblique stripes over the right hip and left shoulder. The garment
covers the right forearm and is caught up in her right hand over
the chest, falling behind the left arm, which is holding an
unidentified object. To the left of the figure a carved inscription
in twenty-two lines begins as follows: ΑΥΡ(ΗΛΙΑ) ΖΩΣΙΜΗ /
ΑΘΗΝΑΙΑ ΑΦΡΟ/ΔΕΙΣΙΟΥ ΤΟΥ ΚΑΙ/ΘΡΙΑΣΙΟΥ ΓΥΝΗ
//ΘΥΓΑΤΗΡ ΔΕ/ΑΥΡ(ΗΛΙΟΥ) ΕΥΚΑΡ/ΠΙΔΟΥ ΤΡΙ/
ΚΟΡΥΣΙΟΥ / ΕΝΘΑΔΕ // ΚΕΙΜΕ / ΤΟΝ ΘΕΟΝ / ΥΜΕΙΝ /
ΤΟΝ ΕΠΟΥ/ΡΑΝΙΟΝ . . . (Here lies Aur[elia] Zosime, Athenian
and wife of Aphrodeisios Thriasios and daughter of Aur[elios]
Eukarpides Trikorysios; our heavenly God . . . ). Inscribed on
the upper border are the words: ΕΒΕΙΩΣΑ ΕΤΩΝ ΚΘ (She lived
twenty-nine years). We cannot tell if this inscription is Christian
or not. Christian inscriptions from the Elis region have come
mainly from ancient Elis and Olympia and are dated to between
the 4th and 6th centuries. Finally, it is generally agreed that
paganism survived for some time in Byzantium, certainly as late
as the 6th century, and much longer in some areas of the
Peloponnese.
C. Matzanas
Bibliography
Fleischer 1961–63, no 3; Bull. Epigr. 1966, 213; Barnea 1980, 464–65;
Feissel – Philippidis-Braat 1985, 373, no. 149; Lambropoulou 1991,
287, 291.

152

scene of heavenly bliss (Stern 1958, fig. 38, Matthiae 1967,
pls. IV, V).
The lamp was found together with about 4,000 more clay
lamps and numerous other finds in the cave of the “Fountain of
the Lamps” in Ancient Corinth, which functioned as a place of
worship and a repository for offerings of pagans and Christians
alike during the late Roman period and up to the 6th century.
Although it was found in a late 5th-century level, scholars have
suggested that the object may be dated earlier on typological
grounds (cf. Karivieri 1996, 70, 74–75) and bears witness to the
coexistence of the different religions and the way iconographic
models from antiquity were being integrated into the Christian
world.
A. Georgiou
Bibliography
Broneer 1930; Wiseman 1969; Wiseman 1970; Wiseman 1972; Garnett
1975, no. 9; Bailey 1988; Assimakopoulou-Atzaka 2005.

Broneer type 28; mold-made; nozzle not preserved; along the rim
traces of herringbone pattern (near the handle) and paired ridges
in relief; handle in one piece; annular base. The nozzle is set off
by a pair of grooves. The filling hole is off-center. A second
opening can be found within the discus area, near the nozzle.
The circular discus bears the relief figure of a small-sized frontal
male, who is naked and appears to be stepping on a flat structure.
He holds a bunch of grapes in his left hand and a sickle in his
right.
The figure on the discus may be interpreted as a wingless
putto or a young Bakchos gathering grapes and treading them in
a structure, which can be identified as a wine press (cf. Bailey
1980, 14, 17, 22). The scene’s prototypes are to be found in
contemporary Attic pottery (Agora VII, 1961, pl. 47c, no. 747).
The subject was popular in the Greco-Roman world. Putti were
introduced in Christian art early on and appear in numerous
variations, in all figurative media. A typical example may be
found in the mosaics on the ceiling of the deambulatory in the
mausoleum of Santa Costanza in Rome (mid-4th century), where
vintaging putti are conceptually incorporated into a Christian

This intact lamp of reddish brown clay has a round body and a
protruding wick hole, which preserves traces of soot, and the
discus has two fill/air holes. On the base two incised concentric
circles surround the foot-shaped potter’s stamp (planta pedis),
which characterizes lamps dated to the 5th century (Bailey 1988,
372, nos. Q3110, Q3105, Q3122, pl. 105). Lamps of this type
(Broneer type 29, group 4, Broneer 1930, 114, nos. 1413, 1423,
pl. xx) have been found in large quantities in Ephesus, which is
considered to be their place of manufacture in the period
450–600 (Bailey 1988, 372). The decoration of the lamp is of
particular interest on account of the conjunction of various
different symbolic elements. To be specific, on the lower part of

153

the wick hole, a cross with unequal arms has been carved, the
symbol par excellence of Christianity. On the body of the discus
there is an embossed frontal image of a peacock with tail fanned
out. This was a paradisiac symbol of the goddess Hera in antiquity and was adopted by Christianity with similar symbolism,
referring to the Second Coming and eternal life for the faithful
in Paradise. The lip is encircled with embossed vines, bunches of
grapes, and stylized vine leaves, symbols of the god Dionysos
from antiquity, which in Christian art acquire Eucharistic
con­tent and refer to the wine of the Holy Communion and the
blood of Christ, in other words to the “life in Christ” of believers. In this period of transition between two worlds, it is
perfectly natural for such purely Christian symbols and older
motifs from antiquity, which were adopted by Christian art and
acquired new symbolism, to be found side by side in the decoration of this lamp.
A. Tsakalos

Lamp made of yellow-ochre clay in the shape of a fish. From its
mouth emerges the head of another, smaller, upturned fish,
which provides the wick hole for the lamp. In the middle of the
back are fill and an air hole. The lamp was intended to be hung
from two openings, one on either fin, on the back. The details on
the body of the fish, such as the scales and the fins, are depicted
with attention to naturalistic detail. In the center of the body an
embossed Christogram can be seen on one side and a cross with
flared terminals on the other.
The presence of the Christian symbols par excellence
underlines the symbolic character of the object, and its piscine
form further enhances the symbolism. Fish-shaped artifacts are

154

known from antiquity, as far back as the archaic period
(Mitten – Doeringer 1968, no. 62). This pre-existing form is
adopted by Christian art and acquires new symbolism, as it now
refers to Christ himself, just as the word ΙΧΘΥΣ (fish in Greek)
refers to the initial letters of the phrase: Ιησοyς Χριστoς
Θεοy Υιoς Σωτhρ (Jesus Christ Son of God Savior). Thus the
fish developed into a particularly popular Christian symbol and
was found in a great variety of objects, especially during the
early Christian period (Galavaris 1970, 57–58; Dauterman
Maguire – Maguire – Duncan-Flowers 1989, 22–23). Thanks to
its symbolism, the lamp may have been used in either a secular
or a religious or funerary context. Clay lamps in the form of fish
were quite widely disseminated in the 4th and 5th centuries and
are thought to be Egyptian in origin (cf. Graziani Abbiani 1969,
79–80, figs. 41, 42; Piotrovsky 1998, 156, no. 232; Kakovkine
1991, 891, fig. 119a–b).
A. Tsakalos
Bibliography
Papanikola-Bakitzi 2002, 296, no. 313.

The first symbols with indisputably Christian content
appear in lamps of this type in the 4th century: the chi-rho
monogram (ΧΡ), symbol of Christ the Savior, and later the cross.
Other motifs, such as animals (lamb, goat, peacock, dove, fish,
bear, and other wild animals) or figures (the Good Shepherd),
come from the pagan repertoire and are sometimes interpreted
as allegories with religious content, whereas sometimes they are
simply decorative. The same is true of the geometric and plant
motifs that cover the shoulder area.
Ceramic oil lamps continued to be the preeminent means of
lighting in this period. They were simple everyday objects
belonging to the poorest members of society, and their decoration
with Christian symbols represents an expression of personal
devotion and of people’s need to constantly protect themselves
with the symbols of the new faith, which pervaded every moment
of their lives.
E. Melliou
Unpublished
Bibliography
Broneer 1930, 108–22; Menzel 1969, 90–93, no. 606; Ennabli 1976,

Preserved almost intact. Only the tip of the handle has been lost,
and there are some slight abrasions on the outer edges of the shoulder
and the top of the nozzle, which has significant traces of soot.
The lamp is made of fine reddish-yellow clay and covered
with a thin layer of slip of the same color. The lamp has a low
annular base with two concentric grooves in the center. The
ribbing of the high, unperforated rostrate handle goes right
down to the base. The body is round and ends in an elongated
nozzle, with which is connected by a wide, shallow channel. On
the curved sides and on the inside walls, the horizontal line
marking the join between its two mold-made parts can be seen.
The shallow discus is decorated with a Christogram in relief
with a fine, carefully executed outline with granulated inlay. On
either side of the discus, two openings of identical size, a filling
hole and a ventilation hole, are placed symmetrically. The discus
is framed by a raised ring, which also frames the channel and
encircles the tip of the nozzle. On the shoulder scrollwork
alternates with roundels with concentric circles and radiating
lines, six on either side of the discus.
The vessel repeats a common type of lamp that was
produced in the workshops of North Africa, mainly Tunisia,
from the late 4th century to the 6th and exported in large
numbers to Italy and Greece. New molds and copies were
sub­sequently produced in local workshops, especially in Corinth
and Athens.

Preserved almost intact. The nozzle is broken, and only the part
up to the opening of the combustion hole is left.
The lamp is made of fine, reddish-yellow clay with some
impurities. The upper part is very thinly covered with carelessly
applied slip of a chestnut-brown color, black in places.
The body of the lamp is oval with a rudimentary, annular
base, in the center of which are three concentric circles in relief.
The ribbing part of the tall, unperforated rostrate handle also
ends in the base. The elongated nozzle is joined to the discus by
a broad, shallow channel. On the inside of the lamp can be seen
the join in its two mold-made parts.
The shallow discus is decorated with a depiction of the
Sacrifice of Abraham in relief. The bearded figure of Abraham is
depicted in the center, striding out to the right. He wears a short
tunic and holds a knife in his raised right hand, while he stretches
out his other hand toward the head of the small, childish form of
Isaac in the right-hand part of the scene. Behind Isaac the branch
of a palm tree can be made out, recalling the bundle of sticks the
child had brought for the sacrifice. At the left of the scene,
toward which Abraham is turning his head, are depicted the
sacrificial lamb (below) and the Hand of God (above) pointing
to it. The whole scene is very stylized, with strong outlines for
the figures, and the only decoration is the dots that cover their
draperies and the animal’s fleece. On the discus, above and
below the scene, are two symmetrically placed openings of the
same size, one for the filling hole and the other for ventilation.
The shoulder is separated from the discus by a raised ring, which
goes on to encircle the channel and is decorated with carelessly
executed small wheels in relief, seven on either side. At the
beginning of the channel is a small rosette made up of tiny
roundels with a dot in the center.
The lamp belongs to the North African type, similar to
ΜΘ 5301 (cat. no. 124).
On these lamps we find certain scenes from the Old
Testament (e.g., Sacrifice of Abraham, Jonah and the Whale,
Daniel in the Lion’s Den, Nebuchadnezzar and the Three
Hebrews) with which the followers of the new religion chose to
decorate the catacombs, mosaic pavements, sculptures, and
other minor artifacts, endowing them with allegorical content
related to spiritual salvation. In particular, as regards the
Sacrifice of Abraham, Isaac was considered a type of Christ by
the biblical commentators and his sacrifice an allegory of Christ’s
sacrifice on the cross.
E. Melliou

The intact lamp of reddish-brown clay has a round body with a
filler-hole on the discus, a stilted handle, and a protruding wick
hole, which preserves traces of soot. The lamp seems to belong
to the earliest type of Egyptian lamp, which is related to the
classical Roman lamps dated to the 3rd and 4th centuries (Hoff
1986, 122, nos. 149, 150; Guidoti 1998, 104, no. 101). Similar
lamps, now in Berlin, were found in Asia Minor and Egypt
(Wulff 1909, 245, pl. lix, nos. 1227–1229). The decoration on
the discus, a relief depiction of the Raising of Lazarus, is
interesting. In the center a beardless Christ is depicted full length,
while above his head is an open Christogram. He is turning to
the right and touching with his staff the head of the dead
Lazarus, who is wrapped in a shroud and swathed in bandages.
This is a new, completely Christian iconographical subject
inspired by the description of the miracle in St. John’s Gospel
(11:1–45). It is introduced into the art of the new religion and
depicted in the same way from the 3rd century until late in the
6th century on artifacts of the minor arts, in catacomb wallpaintings, and on the sculpted decoration of sarcophagi (Le
Blant 1888, 213–14, pl. 4; Age of Spirituality 1979, no. 404).

two men in white who said: ‘Men of Galilee, why stand there
looking up into the sky? This Jesus, who has been taken away
from you up to heaven, will come in the same way as you have
seen him go.’” (I Acts: 10–11). The Hand of God has been
misinterpreted as a scroll or the key to the Kingdom of Heaven,
which was given to Peter, and the two men have been read as
representing the eleven apostles at the Ascension or as the
apostles Peter and James, who, according to the Protoevangelion
of James were chosen by Christ as witnesses to the miraculous
event (Herrmann – Hoek 2003, 295–96).
The Perivoli lamp, which is adorned with one of the earliest
depictions of the Ascension, belongs to a group of 5th-century
North African lamps, which includes eleven well-known pieces
with the same eschatological and Salvationist subject and with
more or less the same dimensions. They are as follows: one from
Syracuse (Orsi 1915, 207–8, fig. 18), one from Carthage (Ennabli
1976, 52, no. 75, pl. 3), one from the villa at Piazza Armerina
(Gentili 1952, 86, figs. 1, 4), one from Corinth (Broneer 1930,
288, no. 1479, fig. 205), one from Kenchreai (Williams 1981, no.
426), one in the Louvre (Lyon-Caen – Hoff 1986, 102–3, no. 50),
one formerly in the Temple Gallery in London (Spira 1990, 83,
no. 34, fig. on p. 80), one in a private collection in America
(Herrmann – Hoek 2003, 293–94, fig. 1), and another in a private
collection in Germany (Garbsch – Overbeck 1989, 138, no. 86,
pl. on p. 76). Most lamps featuring the Ascension have been
found in catacombs, necropolises, or tombs and accompany the
dead as a reminder or promise of their resurrection at the Second
Coming. The relatively rare depiction of the Ascension on pottery
makes the group to which the Perivoli lamp belongs significant
in the history of early Christian iconography.
G. Kakavas
Bibliography
Pantos 1992, 419, 421, pl. 91γ; Sythiakaki-Kritsimalli 2002, 63–64.

Intact clay lamp from the workshops of North Africa. The
handle is imperforated, beak-shaped, and very high. The rim is
embellished with a series of stamped medallions in the form of
triangles, rhombuses inscribed in circles, concentric squares, and
the Christogram in a laurel wreath. The discus and the groove
are decorated with a densely populated narrative scene, which is
identifiable as the Ascension. In the center, a full-length Christ in
a long tunic is “ascending” to heaven in a large, circular aureole,
borne by two flying angels situated on either side of the lower
part. Christ holds a cruciform staff in his left hand, while with
his right he grasps the Hand of God, who pulls him into the
heavenly kingdom. The ascendant Christ is flanked by the
symbols of the Evangelists. Below the main scene, on the groove,
two full-length figures in tunics are striding to the left holding
torches. These are the “two men in white” described in the Acts
of the Apostles who address the apostles and predict the Second
Coming: “As he was going and as they were gazing intently into
the sky, all at once there stood before them [i.e., the disciples]

157

128–131. The Maroneia Ivories

128. Plaque with the Head of a Beardless Man

From an artistic and iconographic point of view, the ivory finds
from Maroneia are governed by rules that we find in sculpture of
the Late Antique period in Constantinople. They connect the
classicizing manner with the simplified depiction of details
(exemplified by the full-length orans figures); the expression of
spiritual intensity (the plaque with the figure of a youth) with the
air of meditation or a meditative feel (the plaque with the
bearded male head); the slightly compressed proportions with
soft movement (the full-length orants); a look of youthful
sweetness (the orans youth) with stern frontality (the plaque
with the bearded male). More specifically, the projection of the
figures as solid, three-dimensional entities (orants), the stance of
the bodies (orants), the extensive repertoire of human types with
different expressions (orants and the plaques of the youth and
the middle-aged man), the obvious arrangement in multiple
zones (objects on different scales), and the architectonic ordering
of subjects (arches supported on columns) are all elements from
the sculptural decoration of sarcophagi. It is well known that
this category of special tomb monuments, in which the dominant
stylistic trends and changes can always be traced, influenced the
ivory (and bone) decoration of wooden caskets.
S. Doukata-Demertzi

The object has been preserved in mediocre condition. The
outline of the figure has been carefully incised on the plaque. It
must have been attached to the wooden backing with glue, as
can be seen from the unusually deep incisions on the back,
needed to make the adhesive stick.
The plaque depicts a young, beardless male with harmonious
and limpid features, turned in three-quarter profile toward the
left. The thick hair in a pudding-bowl cut, with slightly wavy
locks that hang down and curl over the forehead, covers the
ears, thus emphasizing the fleshy cheeks. The overall classical
beauty of the youth goes hand in hand with something transcendental. The ecstatic eyes have holes for insetting some other
material and gaze beyond the earthly world. The continuous
curve of brows and nose endows the facial expression with
grandeur. The meticulous rendering is reminiscent of the
individuals on consular diptychs, yet this head belongs to an
artistic context that will only be fully expressed later in the figure
of Justinian on the Barberini diptych.
S. Doukata-Demertzi
Bibliography
Doukata-Demertzi 2008; Doukata-Demertzi 2011.

158

different material decorated the outfit. The painting of the
surface of the ivory emphasized the range of colors. This kind of
costume, usually combined with a Phrygian cap (pilos), copies
eastern models and is prevalent in sculpture and the minor arts
of the Late Antique period, whether in subjects derived from the
pagan tradition or depictions inspired by the Christian repertoire.
It is often linked with depictions of barbarians, the Wise Men in
scenes of the Adoration of the Magi, Daniel in the Lion’s Den,
or the Three Hebrews from the Old Testament.
S. Doukata-Demertzi
Bibliography
Doukata-Demertzi 2008; Doukata-Demertzi 2011.

The object has been preserved in mediocre condition, the head
(aside from part of the jaw) and the left side with one arm not
having survived. The ivory, originally off-white, has taken on a
yellowish “patina” with the passage of time. The craftsman has
exploited the curvature of the ivory in his carving, so that the
back of the plaque uses the hollow part of the tusk. Consequently,
the cracks of the material have the same direction as the cutting
of the bone, which is parallel to the hollow.
The body is turned slightly to the right and leans against the
architectural framework (an arch supported on columns) behind
it. The figure is wearing a tunic with sleeves (which has a large
tuck in it at upper thigh level, leaving a sharp-edged fold between
the thighs) and a voluminous military cloak fixed with a buckle
on the chest, which creates thick folds between the bent arms.
The legs are clothed in trousers or oriental-style leggings. Parallel
vertical lines on the tunic and leggings indicate that bands of a

The plaque is in fairly good condition. The ivory, originally
off-white, has acquired a yellowish “patina” with the passage of
time. Its poriferous aspect is most probably caused by its having
been eroded by the high lime-mortar content of the level in
which it was found. The back is vertically aligned with the
hollow interior of the tusk.
The plaque depicts, in carefully crafted relief, a young
beardless man in an orans pose, dressed in a tunic with sleeves
and a himation. The arms abut the upper torso, his weight is on
the left leg, and the right leg is slightly bent. He stands on a low
pedestal in front of an arch supported on columns that touches
his head. The short, pudding-bowl haircut wreathes the forehead
and temples with identical curls. The holes in the pupils of the
eyes were intended to be inset with wax or some other material.
Similar holes in the ears are unlikely to be meant for earrings
(which do not seem to correspond with his dress), and there are
no traces of any additional element having been fixed to the
head, such as a halo. The drapery folds have been rendered with
precision and regularity on the sensitive material and are
sufficiently supple to show off the stance and the anatomy of the
body. By contrast, the lower extremities have been carved in a
more naive fashion. Details on the arch and on the colonnettes
are incised. The sweet figure of the youth is redolent of
introspection and a pious nature, which is underlined by the
slight inclination of the almost childish head to the left, the
fixing of the gaze on some invisible spot low down and the
subtly bending pose.
S. Doukata-Demertzi
Bibliography
Doukata-Demertzi 2008; Doukata-Demertzi 2011.

The plaque is in relatively good condition. The outline of the
head has been carefully cut away on the plaque. It must have
been attached to the wooden backing with glue, as can be seen
from the unusually deep incisions on the back, needed to make
the adhesive stick.
This is a frontal depiction of a middle-aged, bearded man
with a fairly broad face, marked eyebrows, and a slightly flattened
nose and cheek bones. The short hair and the beard are somewhat
unkempt. The pupils of the eyes have holes, intended to be inset
with some other material. The head exudes an air of severity but
also spirituality.
S. Doukata-Demertzi
Bibliography
Doukata-Demertzi 2008; Doukata-Demertzi 2011.

Rectangular plaque with a high relief banded border, chipped on
the left-hand side. The side with the relief has a large, vertical
split and a number of smaller ones.
The scene is made up of three figures. A frontal standing
Christ dominates the right-hand half of the scene. He is depicted
as a youthful type with short, curly hair, his weight on the left
leg and the right ready to step into the border. He is wearing a
tunic and himation, one end of which is gathered up at the waist
and falls loosely over the bent left arm, in which he carries a
staff. With the index finger of his right hand, bent at an angle,
he touches the left eye of a blind man, who is depicted in the
left-hand corner of the scene as a beardless youth, his head
facing front and his body in three-quarter profile. His right
hand on the diagonal shows the hesitancy of the pose, while in
his left he holds a short but sturdy staff. In the background,

between the two figures, the head of a middle-aged apostle is
visible, a witness to the scene, who raises his arms in a pose
indicative of wonder and astonishment, familiar from other
similar scenes.
The miracle of the healing of the blind man was a popular
subject in the iconography of early Christian art, as it was linked
with the symbolic content of baptism. The subject was created in
its basic form as early as the 3rd century in two main variations:
one with Christ on the left and the other with Christ on the right
and one or more witnesses present, depending on the space
available.
The rendering of the faces with their large eyes, the pupils
furnished with drill holes, the classicizing modeling of the hair
and the drapery folds, and the disproportionate relationship
between the heads and extremities and the bodies indicate the
plaque is likely to date to the 4th century. Its overall arrangement
suggests that it was created in a provincial workshop.
S. Dadaki
Unpublished
Bibliography
Kitzinger 1960, 19–42; Age of Spirituality 1979.

161

133. The “David” Plates

133a

The nine silver David plates belong to the second Lambousa
treasure found accidentally in 1902 and now divided between
the Cyprus Museum and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The
plates are in three different sizes, and each one narrates an event
from King David’s early years, based on the Old Testament. On
the reverse, all the plates bear imperial control stamps dating
from 613 to 629 /30, during the reign of Herakleios (610–41).
Although silver plates of early Byzantine period have been
found in different parts of the empire, the iconographical
program of these plates depicting events of King David’s life as
a continuous narrative cycle make them unique. The David on
these plates has been associated with the image of the emperor
Herakleios and his victory over the Persian general Razatis in
627. However, a recent study interprets the images on the plates
as a depiction of David’s paideia (education) and consequently
reflects the emperor’s paideia. In this sense, the representation of
the plates testifies to the transformation of classical tradition of
paideia into a medieval tradition, in which the heroes of classical
mythology have been transformed into biblical ones.
Fr. Hadjichristophi

The plate is complete and in good, stable condition with no
major breaks. The surface is shiny with some scratches, minor
abrasions, and very little tarnishing.
Saul is standing on a dais supervising the ceremony as the
central figure of the scene. The young couple is standing on
either side of Saul with their right hands joined. David is not
dressed in short tunics as on the other eight plates. On the
contrary, he now wears a long-sleeved tunic and a full-length
cloak, as does Michal. Cross-bow fibulas fasten Michal’s cloak
at the chest and David’s cloak at the right shoulder. Michal’s
cloak is particularly enriched with fine embroideries. Flute
players, like guards, flank the couple. A basket full of small
round objects, probably coins, and two tied bags are shown in
the exergue. The event is taking place in front of an arcaded
pediment.
The subject of dextrarum junctio derives from Roman
iconography, which survived through the Byzantine era, as it
can be seen on monetary images or on medallions of wedding
belts. Now the Roman gods, which presided over the ceremony,
are replaced by an emperor or Christ. The costumes, the
architectural background, and the symmetrical position of the
persons taking place in the event—the central person in a frontal
position flanked by two bodyguards—recall imperial ceremonial

art. In this respect, the plate can be compared with the
5th-century Missorium of Theodosios in the Real Academia in
Madrid. All of these elements appear on the plate that depicts
the Representation of David to Saul of the Lambousa treasure,
where the basket and the two tied bags are also found in the
exergue.
Fr. Hadjichristophi

The plate is complete and in good, stable condition. The surface
is shiny with some scratches, minor abrasions, and little tarnishing.
This scene is taking place in a bucolic space. David is
dressed with a long tunic and a cloak and is depicted seated on
a rock, holding a lyre with his left hand as he turns his glance to
the left toward the messenger. His right hand is upraised in a
gesture of speech with the messenger who enters in a hurry from
the left. The messenger is a young man wearing a short tunic and
boots. He holds a long rod with his right hand, and with his left
upraised hand he responds to David’s dialogue. In the fore­
ground, one sheep from David’s flock is grazing and another is
resting. The divine instruction for the event taking place is
indicated by the presence of the sky on the upper part of the
scene, including the sun, the moon, and the stars.

Fr. Hadjichristophi

Bibliography

The plate is complete and in good, stable condition with no
major breaks. The surface is shiny with minor scratches and
abrasions and very little tarnishing.
The scene is taking place from right to left. David is depicted
at the moment he is ready to kill the animal that attacked his
flock. He is shown from the back with his body twisted as he
tries to immobilize the bear by holding its head with his left
hand. In his efforts, he has jumped on the animal’s back. In his
upraised right hand, David holds a pointed weapon. As the bear
runs toward the left to escape, it turns its head to the right and
looks at his slayer with a frightened expression that gives the
scene a dramatic character.
This plate complements a similar example from the David
plates, where David is shown from the front killing a lion. The
refined classicizing style of the plate characterizes that of luxury
objects designed for domestic use in the early Byzantine period,
which maintained continuity with the past but at the same time
introduced new themes borrowed from the Old and New
Testaments. Scenes of heroes fighting with animals, such as
Herakles and the lion of Nemea on the silver plate in the Cabinet
de Médailles, Bibliothèque nationale de France, with which one
of the David plates have been compared, are transformed under
the new conceptions of narration.
The David cycle has its parallels in illuminated manuscripts
and Coptic textiles, which constitute examples of the luxury arts
that reflect the taste of a wealthy society and reveal the influence
of Old Testament narrative on the new Christian culture.
Fr. Hadjichristophi

This well-preserved gold ring has an engraved round bezel in
the form of a truncated cone; the hoop, flat in section, is made
up of nine small discs and twenty soldered pellets (one now
lost), two between each disc.
The Zucker ring, like many Late Antique and Byzantine
rings, would have served as a signet or seal ring. Although this
example does not include the name of the owner, the engraved
design would have left a clear and identifiable raised mark
when pressed into wax or clay. The deep and skillfully executed
intaglio, the unusual and complex hoop, and the weight of gold
used in this ring all point to a wealthy owner. The bezel of this

163

exceptional ring depicts the dove that returned to Noah’s ark
with an olive branch (Genesis 8:10, 11), placed above the Lamb
of God. Noah’s dove was used in early Christian art to symbolize
salvation and hope, and the lamb as an emblem of Christ
(derived from the Gospel of John 1:29) was widespread
throughout the early Christian and medieval eras. This
juxtaposition of Noah’s dove and the Lamb of God is not
common, but from an early date, Christians sought to reconcile
their new religion with its historical foundation by pairing scenes
or figures from the Old and New Testaments, and this may well
be an example of this typological approach. In form and quality,
the Zucker ring is related to two rings in the British Museum;
the dove with the olive branch is depicted above a cross and a
pair of bust-length figures on a ring now at the Canellopoulos
Museum in Athens.

The outer edge of the glass has been roughly cut and is chipped.
The portrait of an unknown man in the center medallion is
surrounded by the Latin transliteration of the Greek word
ZHCAIC (Live!). The young man is depicted wearing a tunic
and pallium, and he raises his right hand in a gesture of speech.
Encircling the medallion are scenes from the Old and New
Testaments. Beginning at the top, the three Hebrews in the fiery
furnace are depicted among stylized flames with their hands
raised in prayer. They are garbed in Persian-style striped, belted
tunics and ornate leggings and are wearing pointed Phrygian
caps. Just to the right is an image of Christ wearing a long tunic
and holding an upraised staff. This is the usual depiction of
Christ as miracle worker. Because Christ is turned toward the
three Hebrews, it is implied that he was responsible for saving
them from their fiery execution. Further to the right is a
representation of the paralytic who was healed by Christ. The
paralytic stands holding a pallet across his shoulders and facing
Christ, who is again represented as miracle worker raising his
staff in the direction of the paralytic. Next is an image of Tobias,
shown wearing a girdled tunic and inserting his hand into the
fish’s mouth. Finally, Christ is depicted with seven pots, most
likely a representation of the miracle at Cana, where Christ
turned water into wine.
Christians were often interred in grave cells, called loculi,
cut directly into the stone walls of underground catacombs. This
gold glass, originally part of a bowl, would have been embedded
in the plaster that was used to seal the opening of a loculus. Such
a decoration would have announced that the person buried
within was a Christian. The miracle scenes are related to the
theme of salvation through Christ.
K. Marsengill
Bibliography
Vopel 1899, no. 85; Avery 1921, 172–73 , fig. 2; Morey – Ferrari 1959,
72–73, no. 448; Age of Spirituality 1979, 430–31, no. 388; Grig 2004,
207, fig. 1.

164

The cross is the symbol par excellence of Christianity, as it
refers to Christ’s triumph over death and by extension expresses
the believer’s hope of eternal life. Thanks to this symbolism, this
particular cross is the most suitable base on which to inscribe an
invocation for the commemoration and “eternal rest” of the
deceased, who in life had served as a deacon, an office found in
the church hierarchy from the earliest Christian times.
A. Tsakalos
Unpublished

The copper alloy cross has flared cross-arms, decorated at the
terminals with projecting discs. At the ends of the cross-arms
eight small holes containing rivets survive and two larger ones
are on the discs at either end of the upper part of the horizontal
cross-arm, probably of a different period. This is an indication
that at some point, whether at the time it was made or later, the
cross was attached to another surface, such as a piece of furniture
or a casket or even a Gospel cover.
Around the edges of the obverse, a chased decorative band
imitating herringbone pattern frames the following inscription:
ΥΠΕΡ / ΜΝΙ / ΜΗC / ΚΑΙ / Α / Ν / Α / ΠΑΥ / CΕ / ΟC / ΔΙΑ /
ΚΟ / ΝΟΥ / CI / MI / ONH / OY + (In memory of the Deacon
Semionios and for his [eternal] rest +). The inscription is read
starting on the vertical cross-arm from top to bottom and
continues from left to right on the horizontal cross-arm. It is
written in capitals in a rounded script, the letters terminating in
dots. The content of the inscription links it with similar crosses
(Stiegemann 2001, 202–3, nos. I.80–I.83) and a series of offerings
(crosses, chalices, patens, lamps, ewers) of the 6th to 7th century,
on which the name of the donor is combined with an invocation:
(most commonly ΥΠΕΡ ΕΥΧΗΣ . . . [A prayer for . . .], and more
rarely: ΥΠΕΡ ΣΩΤΗΡΙΑΣ ΚΑΙ ΑΝΑΠΑΥΣΕΩΣ … [For the
salvation and [eternal] rest of . . . ) (Mango 1986, passim,
especially 188–91, 234, nos. 41, 64).

Losses to the paint surface in the lower part and at the edges.
Wall painting that decorated the inside of a tomb chamber,
measuring 2.20 by 1.05 meters by 1.60 meters high. The tomb
was oriented north-south, and the entrance was on the short
northern wall and was closed with a schist slab. It had a dirt
floor and wall paintings on the two long walls.
A band of red outlined in black, enclosed in two thin black
lines, separates the white paint surface into two registers. The
central motif in the upper register is a red cross with unequal
arms and flared terminals. From the base of the cross emerge
two palm branches. On either side of the cross are depicted
clumps of plants: on the left, thin-stemmed plants with red
flowers, and on the right, reeds and another plant with red
flowers. The lower register is decorated with branches, festoons,
and red ribbons hung symmetrically from the fine black line.

165

A cross surrounded by flowering plants symbolizes paradise.
From the 6th century on, the life-giving foliate cross is identified
with Christ. The decoration of tombs with branches, garlands,
ribbons, and flowers was a widespread Roman funerary custom
and was incorporated into the Christian religion. In the early
Christian period, the family of the deceased used to decorate the
tomb on the anniversary of the death and for the funerary meals
held in memory of the departed. A number of tombs dated to the
6th century, which have similar decoration with crosses
surrounded by plants or trees, have been found in Thessaloniki.
A. Tzitzibassi
Bibliography

bold appearance of Christ on the coinage of Constantinople
strengthened the opposition of the Roman church to what it
viewed as idolatry in Byzantium and contributed to the
developing schism between the churches. It is significant that the
two usurpers whose reigns interrupted that of Justinian II in 695,
Leontios and Tiberios III, returned the emperor to the obverse of
their issues and put a simple cross on their reverses; when
Justinian regained the throne in 705, he returned Christ to the
obverse of his solidi, but with a much simplified, more linear
rendering. Soon thereafter, iconoclasm became the dominant
ideology of the ruling emperors, and religious imagery on Byzan­
tine coinage was again reduced to simple, often small crosses.
A. M. Stahl

Die axis 6 o’clock; uncirculated condition.
Obverse legend: IhSChRISTDSREX REGNANTIUM [Jesus
Christ Lord King of Those Reigning]; reverse legend: DIVSTINI
AN USSERUChRISTI [Lord Justinian, Servant of Christ].
Until the reign of Justinian II, which went from 685 to 711 with
the interruption of two usurpers, the image on the obverse of the
coins had been the head of the emperor, usually in military dress,
with symbolic religious images relegated to the coin’s reverse.
Early in his reign, Justinian introduced this revolutionary new
coin, which put Christ on the front and moved his own depiction
to the reverse. The legends also reverse the priority of figures,
with the obverse proclaiming “Jesus Christ, Lord, King of those
Reigning,” whereas Justinian’s name appears on the reverse,
with only the title of “Servant of Christ.” The issue of this coin,
dated to 692 by current numismatic scholarship, had major
political repercussions throughout the Mediterranean world.
Within two years, the Islamic caliph Abd el-Malik introduced a
reform that removed all imagery from Islamic gold and silver
coins, a tradition that would last a millennium. In the west, the

This impressive mummy portrait is painted on a tall rectangular
wooden panel. It is well preserved, and the few vertical fissures
and remains of textiles and resin from the mummy wrappings do
not detract from the overall brilliance of the painting.
The corpus of mummy portraits from Roman Egypt is the
most important and distinguished group of portrait paintings
surviving from the classical world. Placed on the face of the
deceased, each panel was bound into the mummy wrappings.
Although called “Faiyum portraits” after the region where the
majority of the examples were discovered, several of these
mummy portraits were also found in Upper Egypt and places far
in the north of Egypt, such as Marina el-Alamein on the
Mediterranean coast. Today over a thousand mummy portraits
are known, housed in private and public collections around the
world; fewer than a hundred, however, are preserved with their
original wrappings. These few examples show different types of
body decoration: with rhombic patterns in the wrappings, with
painted red shrouds (very rare), or completely layered with
gilded stucco.
By common understanding, mummy portraits came first
into use during the reign of the emperor Tiberius (14–37), but it
was only in the Claudian era (41–54) that they were more
extensively produced. The lack of archaeological data for most
of the portraits has made it necessary to rely on details of dress,
hairstyles, and jewelry (which reflected the current fashion of the
imperial court in Rome) to date them. This portrait of a younger
woman is characterized by a complex arrangement of braids
wound over the head with no hair bun as often seen. She wears
a dark purple tunic decorated with black vertical stripes (clavi)
and a mantle draped over her left shoulder. The face itself is
dominated by the wide-open eyes under heavy brows and a
rather small mouth, as well as a prominent chin. The unobtrusive
elegance of this unnamed woman from the social elite of the
Faiyum is further enhanced by her jewelry, the earrings and the
necklace made of pearls, and emerald beads in alternating
sequence.
M. Seidel

This panel is slightly damaged at its upper edge, and two
prominent vertical fissures are evident. The pigments, however,
remain bright and fresh. Traces of fabric from the original
mummy wrappings are visible on the panel’s sides and bottom.
The first exhibition of mummy portraits, mounted in the
late 1880s by the Viennese collector and art dealer Theodor
Graf, presented material that had never been seen before to an
astonished public. Suspicions about their authenticity were
silenced some years later through two excavations conducted by
the British archaeologist Flinders Petrie at Hawara in 1881 and
1911. At this site, the cemetery of the well-documented town of
Arsinoë, a large quantity of mummies were discovered, with and
without portrait panels. Petrie found that only a small percentage
of all excavated mummies (not more than 2 percent) were
equipped with such a painted portrait. Obviously only members
of the local elite would have been able to afford to commission
these for their burials.
Mummy portraits join the long history of the ancient
Egyptian burial practice of mummification with portrait painting
from the Hellenistic tradition carried on into Roman times. The
corpus of mummy portraits shows remarkable differences in
their artistic quality, which are not necessarily indicative of their
date. Traditionally the corpus is divided into two general groups
according to the materials used to execute the portraits: encaustic
and tempera. The technique of encaustic painting, a combination
of beeswax with tinting pigments from minerals or vegetables,
was particularly difficult to master and needed a highly skillful
artist. Among the many varieties of wood used for the portrait
panels, lime wood appeared to have been most widely used. It
could be cut in extremely thin panels (ranging from 0.9 to 2
mm.), which could easily be curved over the mummy’s head
when integrated into the wrappings. The wild, barely tamed
hairstyle (and beard) with corkscrew locks fanning over the
brows of the man represented in this mummy portrait is typical
for the middle to late Antonine period, the era of the emperors
Lucius Verus and Marcus Aurelius (161–180). The overall
impressionistic elegance of the style is evident in the dynamic
brushstrokes, which sketch the idea of a white tunic rather
seeking to imitate the cloth.
M. Seidel
Bibliography
Parlasca 1969, 81, no. 201; Drayman 1970, 3–4; Berger 1977, 171, 209;
Thompson 1982, 13, pl. 18; Borg 1996, 79–80, 88 (16), pl. 27,2;
Schulz – Seidel 2009, 170–171, no. 71.

The portrait is on a thin panel. There is some paint loss, and the
gilding on the background and necklace has disappeared. Splits
in the wood and subsequent cracks in the paint are present. The
upper and lower edges were never painted.
This mummy portrait depicts a young woman wearing a
red tunic with a black clavus, a necklace, and earrings. She has
curly black hair adorned with a gold wreath. Her large eyes,
framed with thick eyelashes below and arched black brows
above, gaze out from the portrait as if to engage the viewer
directly. The corners of her lips are slightly lifted, which lends an
even greater immediacy to the portrait. Originally the back­
ground was gilded, which would have provided luminosity to
the painting, surrounding the woman’s face with light and
suggesting that she inhabited an elevated or exalted position in
her afterlife. The gold was added after the panel was inserted
into the mummy wrappings; however, the unfinished edges
indicate that the portrait was not made for any other purpose
than to adorn her mummy.
In Akhmim there was a tradition of cartonnage funerary
masks that were placed on mummies or incorporated into coffins
to serve as substitutions for the faces of the deceased in the
afterlife. Greco-Roman portrait painting, which appeared in
Egypt in the mid-1st century ad, provided a more naturalistic
means of depicting the deceased, and painted panels were affixed
to mummies in the Egyptian tradition. The portrait of the young
woman in red was found as part of a family group with ten highquality painted funerary panels: three men, two younger women,
an adolescent boy, and an elderly female, who may have been
the mother of the three men. The panels, however, evince the
hands of different painters and were likely executed over the
span of a generation. The portrait of the young woman here has
very thickly applied encaustic, which is unlike the other portraits
in the set.
The funerary portrait genre and its emphasis on creating the
sense that the dead were present by providing visual foci for the
living became important in the development of Christian icons.
In particular, the large eyes and interactive gaze allowed the
living to feel as though the deceased were accessible even in the
afterlife.
K. Marsengill

There are some damaged areas on the upper part of the item,
and its left corner is missing.
A roundel containing an embroidered bust of an angel with
open wings is inscribed on a square of green linen. The angel
stands out against the purple background of the roundel,
depicted frontally, its head and gaze turned slightly to its right.
The angel wears a white tunic embellished at the neck and on the
chest and a green himation with a border falling freely over the
shoulders. Outside the roundel, in the corners of the textile
fragment, stylized white flowers edged in brown stand out
against a green ground.
The idealized beauty of the angel’s head on the long neck,
the slight turn to the side, and the aristocratic nature of the
figure attest to strong influence from Hellenistic heritage and
date the textile from the 4th to the 5th century.
It is worth mentioning that this type of work—(wool?)
embroidery on linen fabric—is rather rare in Coptic art.
E. Papastavrou
Bibliography
Sotiriou 1931, 112; Apostolaki 1932, 179–80, fig. 152.

Fragment of a wall mosaic with a partially preserved face,
probably of a saint. All that remains of the face are the eyes and
eyebrows, part of the forehead, and part of the nose.
Most of the stone tesserae used are white, ochre, and a
purplish color, but some dark-colored glass paste has been used
for the eyebrows, the eyelids, and the pupils.
A. Dina
Bibliography
Lazaridis 1979, 56–58, pl. 41α; Dina 2004, 59, pl. 19α.

Half of the icon has been preserved, representing the upper part
of a head of Christ, probably originally depicted in bust form.
The image is executed in encaustic technique, in which wax is
used as the binding medium for the pigments. The surviving part
is in average condition, with flaking in some parts and loss of the
paint layer covering the wooden support. Two holes in the upper
corners of the work indicated that it was intended to be attached
to a frame or some other support. The existence of frames on
early panel paintings is attested in surviving examples, not just
of Christian images but also of pagan ones, which seem to have
used similar production techniques to a large extent.
All that survives of the face of Christ are the hair, the large
eyes shaded by heavy brows, and the nose to just above the
nostrils. Black paint was used for the hair, the eyebrows, and the
outlines; the flesh is white, but the eyelids and the nose are
shaded with an orange hue combined with brown. Christ’s head
is surrounded by a cruciform halo inscribed with a cross. The
ground is blue and has a dedicatory inscription in white capital
letters on either side of the figure, which reads “Emmanuel with
us” in Greek on the left; on right the Coptic inscription has been
read as “Brother Timotheos remember him before God twofold.”
Based on the reading of the inscription, we can assume that the
icon was a votive offering.

This partially preserved icon belonging to the Benaki Museum
is one of the very few examples of extant early Christian icons
outside the collection of St. Catherine’s Monastery, Sinai.
Unfortunately, the fragmentary condition of the work does not
allow us to draw any firm conclusions about the iconographical
type of Christ represented. However, it is worth noting the
features, which are characteristic of all icons of this period:
the large, wide-open eyes and the relatively low forehead,
which is typical of other youthful figures in early icons, such as
Sts. Sergios and Bakchos or St. John (?) in a roundel above a
portrait of St. Peter, both works belonging to St. Catherine’s
Sinai. The encaustic technique used on several of these icons is
known from earlier Greco-Roman paintings, as well as from
funerary portraits from Roman Egypt. The need for speed of
execution in painting with wax gives the pictures a pulsating
liveliness and intensity, which is evident even on the damaged
face of Christ on the Benaki icon.
A. Drandaki
Bibliography
Chatzidakis 1967, fig. 19; Corrigan 2010. On technical and stylistic
issues regarding early icons, both pagan and Christian, see Mathews
2006, 39–55 (with earlier bibliography).

171

abbreviations
AAA

Archaiologika Analekta ex Athenon

ADelt

Archaeologikon Deltion

ΑΕΜΘ

Archaeologiko Ergo ste Makedonia kai Thrake

AEphem

Archaiologike Ephemeris

Agora

The Athenian Agora. Results of Excavations
conducted by the American School of Classical
Studies at Athens

Vryonis 1981: Sp. Vryonis, “The Panegyris of the Byzantine Saint:
A study in the Nature of a medieval Institution, Its Origins and Fate.”
In The Byzantine Saint, 14th Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies,
University of Birbingham, ed. S. Hackel. London 1981, 196–226.